


Your Shoes, In a Different Size

by Eyrdamun



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Implied Torture, M/M, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Unreliable Narrator, mentioned sexual harrassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-08-22 05:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16591331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrdamun/pseuds/Eyrdamun
Summary: Akira Kurusu works for Masayoshi Shido. It's a temporary gig, he's still waiting for a chance to sink his knife in his back.





	1. Chapter 1

"You're lucky your parents care about you enough-" Akira is 14 years old. Nervously, he plays with the fabric of his shirt as the drunk man that tried to sue him for assault drawls on. "- and that I'm kind enough to offer you another way to pay for your assaulting me." The limousine they sit in is too quiet. It's hard to ignore the bald liar.

 

It’s also unnecessarily expensive looking. The man has no subtlety as he flaunts.

 

But AKira’s head is still relieving how his parents packed his bags as he cried, yelled, begged them to reconsider. Still stuck on how they placed them in the back of the limo with a smile and a pat on his back, Akira felt as good as orphaned. " I didn't do it. "

 

Masayoshi Shido smiles faker than the flower pot in his dad's office. It had been a joke gift, one his dad had never really cared for and gathers dusts in a forgotten corner. His smile is a thin, ugly thing. It suits him.

 

"I knew I would have to start teaching you obedience as soon as possible. I'm sure you'll be a quick learner." Every word out of the rotten hole that man calls mouth drips in smugness. “You’ll become the young man your parents would be proud of.”

 

"Are you sure you didn't realize how your charges were bullshit and that you'd be found out?"

 

Behind the sunglasses, the man's eyes narrow and his smile slips off. His features shift into disgust as he stares Akira down. The same sort of face his parents would give him when he thought he wasn’t looking after the assaults charges were a looming threat. They would vehemently deny it whenever Akira asked.

 

He expects to be slapped. Or punched. Anything.

 

"You're lucky you're a good candidate for the research I'm backing."

 

The statement makes him pale. After that, after the limousine ride in the night and the train ride, it doesn't take long for him to find out Masayoshi Shido never directly dirties his hands himself. He doesn’t need to, he has other deliver punishment for him.

 

 

(In Tokyo, he's set up in an apartment. It's fully furnished, clinically clean to the point of making Akira sick. His stomach already hurts from the beating, the rotten men Shido sicked on him made sure to leave no scars, no wounds that would raise suspicion. But his body still aches, and the place looks too uncomfortable to rest in. 

 

Shido probably already knows that and mocks him.

 

The bastard has the audacity to tell him to not think of doing anything funny, that he has eyes on him before Masayoshi Shido hands him a phone.

 

It’s one of the newer models, slick and modern with too many functions and too much sensitivity that Akira doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to. He quickly glances at the apps, notices only the standard ones alongside a bizarre messaging application he’s never heard of before.

 

"Remember. You work for me now,' he spits out with no delicacy as he shuts the door behind him before Akira hisses it won't last.  


 

There are no contacts preinstalled in the phone.)

 

 

"Oh, I'm sure everyone here is dying to ask! Aki-kun, what are your thoughts on the Phantom Thieves?" Her voice is conspiratorial but with the seriousness of an adult playing with a five year old. Akira is irritated, the stage lights burning his eyes and feel like a heavy presence on his skin.

 

He hate this. He hates having eyes on him like this.

 

"I'm just an idol," Akira laughs. He turns to the audience with a smile, hands folded on his lap and bows slightly. He tries his best to play humble. There’s no need for Shido to give him another useless, boring, lecture. "I don't think there is much insight I can provide on this topic."

 

"Ah, but Aki-kun!" The male cohost starts with a grin. As if he had never heard of fake humility and he had caught him red handed. "We all heard about your original producer, Asakura Shiro, and the things he would do to his employees before his mental shutdown. You were quite vocal about providing evidence from your coworkers to the police so that his crimes wouldn’t be swiped under the rug."

 

They never tire of bringing that act of rebellion up. Shido doesn't think twice about throwing it at his face either.  


 

The woman nods as the crowd cheers. "Your sense of justice is incredible! I'm sure your fans agree that you can be a guiding light. You've been also very outspoken about other trials and unjust policies...  so! What do you think?"

 

Akira hates his job. He hates his jobs, really. Guiding light? He schools his features as he falsely laughs.  It stings like a backhanded insult. He only wants them to think for themselves, not blindly follow. So that they could get a hint about the things he can’t talk about _yet_. He rubs one of his wrist, disguises the motion as embarrassment. He doesn't think the ghost of the metal that bit them will ever stop haunting him.  


 

He hates his jobs, but not as much as he hates Masayoshi Shido.

 

"Well, if you think my opinion is that important..." he pretends to be bashful. "I think there are too many unknowns to truly have faith in the Phantom Thieves."

 

The curious susurrus weaves through the crowd all the way to him. It's a wonder, Akira thinks, how the microphones don't pick everything up. But they do pick up all of the woman's gauding.

 

He continues, wishing for every passing second of the recording he were somewhere else. "We are unfamiliar with their methods and we don't know who they are. We have no way of saying if they are coming from a place of good will or just spite. And while so far the only two known cases have been about truly despicable men, who's to say what they define as criminals?"

 

Akira doesn't bother letting the audience nor the host have a moment to mull over his words. They clearly don't want to think and it bugs him. It bugs him so much. "Not only that, but how do they do it? The victims behaved like completely different people, as if brainwashed. And how long would that last anyway?"

 

He pauses and looks to the side. Blinking owlishly, he plays with a strand of his hair as a thought strikes him. "Is it possible then they could implant fake crimes into the victim's head or...?"

 

The shocked exclamations from the crowd and the hosts snap him back into reality.

 

"That's-!"

 

"I would have never thought...!"

 

Akira chuckles and smiles to disarm. "Hey, this is just speculation! I told you we don’t know anything." He leans back into the red cushions of his seat. "I'm just an idol, don't take me too seriously. The police are investigating them, right? They would probably have more clues."

 

 

(His first job was to attend a study. The scientist head was deceptively motherly. She offered him a shoulder to mourn his situation on as she worked on his brain. Or maybe she didn't and Akira had been desperate enough to lie to himself.

 

She worked on psience. It sounded like bullshit to him. Still does.)

 

 

"What does the audience think?"

 

 

(He was still working with his first producer back then. He was more of a pain than the torture of the tests. He always brought uncertainty, a sense of danger, when his hands would pose Akira for pictures. They would trail and feel more than they would need to.

 

He had lied to himself that that was just part of the business too, until he overheard some of the other models.)

 

 

The female host walks around the audience. "Oh, you!"

 

 

(He wasn't the only one in that center though.

 

Homeless people, orphans, those demeaned as the dregs of society were there too. They had it worse, Akira remembers, by pure virtue of being easier to forget and whisk away. But the research meant jack shit, if you asked Akira. It didn’t matter, he managed to awaken slightly, but just  _ enough _ , they said as they continued treating everyone else like  _ that _ . They didn’t question their approach for a second.)

 

 

Studio lights blind him, he can only see her silhouette as she zeroes in on the poor victim. Akira keeps his smile on his face, and hopes that the selected person would enjoy their moment of attention more than he ever does.

 

 

(At that point, Shido was already giving him lists of names when another boy appeared one day during the experiments.)

 

 

"What do you think about the Phantom Thieves?" She asks before passing the microphone to a guy in the audience.

 

He recognizes that voice.

 

 

("How do you know that man?" The new boy asked him. He had long Auburn hair, was a bit on the skinny side and had pleasant red eyes. He smiles pleasantly, and Akira knows it's fake. He can hear the feral undertones in his voice.)

 

"I believe," he says charismatic with a voice like honey, "that they have demonstrated themselves to be justice in and of itself."

 

 

("Don't worry about it," Akira replied instead of answering his question. "But you should get away from this lab as soon as possible."

 

The boy's smile turns thin. Ugly. It looks like Shido in the limousine---

 

"I have natural potential, why should I?"

 

It’s an unfair comparison. The boy in front of him isn’t as rotten. He seems only jaded.

 

“You do,” Akira shrugs. "You don't need this place.")

 

 

He hasn't seen Goro since Wakaba died. This was a surprise.

 

Akira chuckles softly and makes sure to use his practiced light teasing tone. He wonders if Goro is still as sharp as back then. "Are you sure you aren't saying that cause Kamoshida happened to be someone you had a bone to pick with yourself?"

 

Goro laughs much more pleasantly than back in the day. “Can’t deny that his change of heart hasn’t been a positive thing for the world.” He got better at being fake. Akira knows first hand that’s not a good thing.

 

The show ends before they can keep their conversation going.

 

 

(“I heard that your Persona doesn’t manifest well.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“Doesn’t that mean I have a stronger will than you?” The boy drips with smugness. But Akira can see something different stalking behind it. “Watch out, I might steal your spot.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Akira laughs and plays dumb.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another fate swap au to add to the pile boys
> 
> Its going to take a while to get really into the akeshu bits


	2. Chapter 2

“Thank you so, so, so much!”

 

“Any time.”

 

The girl squeals as she hops away towards her friends. They join in with her, loud and annoying, as she shows her the picture she took with her idol sweetheart extraordinaire _Aki-kun_. The aforementioned holds up the cat stuffed toy he received with a smile, waving its stuffed paw. And then he proceeds to ignore the cacophony he causes, choosing instead to turn to him with a raise of a brow. Goro has genuinely no idea how Akira manages to deal with fans like that.

 

Akira grew taller, handsomer, but somehow his presence remained the same. It's, he is, disarming.

 

The pleasant surprise simmering in his gut over being recognized is… irritating.

 

He should be better than this. Better than him. He should know better, at the very least.

 

The girls squeal again and Goro sighs through his nose. This whole trip is just making him appreciate his own school fans better; none of them are this loud and obsessive. At least, not directly in his line of sight. He hoists his bag up on his shoulder, Morgana mewling about his ears hurting from inside it.

 

Replying to the complaints right now would be dangerous, Akira is still looking at him, his eyes aren't just his own.

 

He meets Akira's prodding gaze and nods at a wall, a corner of the studio closer to the staff where they could chat without much interruption. The spot is dark, perfect for someone like Akira who melts into shadows with worrying ease. As if he were never there at all in the first place- a useful skill he knows for a fact the other uses more often than not. And not only to escape his fans.

 

Goro has no idea why someone so eager to meld into crowds like Akira decided to become an idol. Even if he undeniably has the looks and the voice for it. That only raises more questions. Why would he want it so bad that he-

 

Whatever, he doesn't need to know.

 

He bets the Devil is more pleasant company than that glorified sperm donor or anyone who happily indulges him.

 

When Akira joins him by the spot he gestured a minute or two later, he smiles. Goro shouldn't feel so vindicated by the one inch of height he has over him.

 

“School trip, huh?”

 

“I’m chaperoning.”

 

Akira whistles. It’s a pretty sound, like a songbird’s tweeting, and so out of place from a dog.

 

Goro recalls dark curls, storm clouds and fluffy hair, spilling from beneath a bizarre helmet connected to a chair by cables, skinny limbs bitten by straps, and Akira hissing as Wakaba would finish setting up the sensors on his pulse points. How that hiss would turn to Akira trying to learn to whistle, defeated, just to pass the time.

 

“I see you’re still as friendly as ever, Goro…?” Akira raises the plush he got and plays with one of the fluffy paws. He heard fellow female students talk about Akira’s fondness for felines so many times. He could almost believe it’s real with the way his lips quirk upwards as he toys with the stuffed animal. Almost, if it weren't for the fact that they are currently in public and Goro knows who is behind Akira's career.

 

“It’s Akechi now.”

 

Akira hums. “Oh, you made it official. Congrats.”

 

The toy calico cat is no bigger than Morgana himself. A frivolity, Goro shakes his head. They don't have the luxury to bask in silence. Never did, never wanted to. Goro would always make a point of breaking it. He stares at the plush.

 

“Let's get to the point. I wouldn't want to waste too much of your time.”

 

Perhaps Morgana could be a stuffed animal. A very convincing one. A victim of taxidermy?

 

“I’ll count this as my break, don't worry. Take your time zoning out,” Akira teases, the second sentence no louder than a whisper.

 

“How kind. Though you make it sound like that's all I ever do.” No, Morgana breathes and Goro can feel his heartbeat. So maybe he could be a real cat. Person, whatever. Goro focuses his eyes on Akira. “I’m all ears now.”

 

Akira laughs quietly.

 

Or he doesn’t laugh at all, but his face takes the shape of one and his torso moves as if he were. With the passage of time, not much has changed. Morgana shuffles against his side, presses his paws against him through the fabric of the bag to signal his presence.

 

The sentiment is appreciated, but sorely unneeded. He remembers Akira well enough.

 

Remembers, too, the sparring the researchers suggested they do, how easily Loki could best him and his intangible, nebulous other self once they had been pinpointed. Finding Akira is always the real battle. Goro admits he never looks very hard. But no matter how quick Akira was, Goro was swifter. He has multiple cards up his sleeve to achieve-

 

“Alright, spill.” Akira leans against the wall in a fluid movement. Like a feline, and even more graceful. However, his tongue strikes like a viper. “Did Kamoshida have a palace?”

 

It had never been an issue. It wasn't supposed to be. Gotshould be sitting in his place with a knife hidden behind his back.

 

Goro pretends to clear his throat to hide the loud yeowling from his bag. It doesn’t work well, Akira zeroes in on it, grey eyes always watching for _him_ and for himself.

He should have handed Morgana to Ann.

 

“If he did, I wasn’t aware.”

 

“What was that?” Akira circles, trying to peek into the closed bag. But Goro keeps it out of reach, certain that he’ll try to unzip it as soon as he lays his sticky hands on it. His fingers, long and lithe, always seemed like they could be easily snapped- it’s no wonder he never fully awakened back in the day. He wasn’t made for fighting the horrors of the Metaverse. But he has no problem stealing, recording things that should stay hidden in the dark, he always came back with something during his trips. “And did he? Did he have one?”

 

He even stole what should have been rightfully his.

 

“I said I don’t know.”

 

Goro will take it back, he needs it. He has a dream.

 

Akira blinks at him, it snaps him out of his thoughts. It leaves a bitter taste on Goro’s tongue, chokes his throat as he swallows. The veil of his lashes hides blades underneath a charming exterior and Goro can faintly hear the shutter of a camera, in his head. Akira, like the idol he is, doesn’t mind and blinks again. Long eyelashes seem to caress his cheeks as his lids lower- pretty and so hard to avert your gaze once you look at him. He imagines another camera shutter. Akira is undeniably easy on the eyes, Goro can't stop circling back to one thought: he could have easily gotten where he is using nothing else but looks alone.

 

And maybe he did. Goro doesn’t know anything about Akira's job, not really.

 

Nothing else than Akira walking down an empty hall by Shido’s side as the man spoke, or Akira ducking into unassuming cars with tinted glass in the research center's parking lot when he thought himself hidden.

 

Goro is certain he sneaked by undetected most times, if he were being honest.

 

But he isn't.

 

Akira refused to let anything spill back then. Deflecting his questions with empty words of concern. So did Wakaba, but Goro wonders how much of that was just out of love for her research. He should get out of his head, before Akira gets in his and leaves the door wide open for that man.

 

“So you think the Metaverse is involved?” Goro knows the answer when grey eyes stare like a downpour. Akira’s smile is a knife pointed right at him, a thinly veiled foretelling of hurt. Goro knows.

 

“Meh, I'm not an expert, just an idol,” he says as his hands float towards Goro. They shove him lightly to the side and, with a twirl, Akira’s shoulder presses against his. Goro’s own phone is raised with the camera mode already selected. Before Goro can ask, Akira continues in a ghost of a whisper that tickles his ear. “But _they_ ’ll figure it out.”

 

Goro doesn’t appreciate the cover up. It’s unnecessary, their conversation is being listened to by sharp ears anyway. Morgana's paws press against his ribs, and Shido is always listening when Akira is around.

 

“They?”

 

“Yup. Say cheese!”

 

“So the research wasn't terminated,” Goro mutters as he brings his hand to his chin and smiles, striking his signature pose for Akira to take the picture. “What do you gain from telling me this?”

 

“Here, commemoration for meeting again.”

 

“Thank you.” Goro takes the device from Akira’s fingers gently. He waits for an answer, and realizes he will have to wait for it forever as the seconds flow by. Akira only smiles. It speaks louder than his hushed tone from before.

 

Goro sighs and pockets his phone.  Morgana’s paws claw frantically at him.

 

“Again, thank you for your time, Kurusu-kun.”

 

He deletes the picture.

 

A shark circles his lonely craft.

 

* * *

 

The research center is well lit. It looks exactly like a clinic at first glance, so much so Goro thinks he got the wrong place. But it feels wrong, the waiting room is empty and the secretary at the desk looks more like a guard than anything else.

 

The spacey homeless man he tracked down knocks on the back of his mind, the effects of whatever goes on behind the clean walls grinning between his ears.

 

He reminds himself that unlike that man, he's armed. Goro clutches the phone in his pocket.

 

The secretary eyes him closely, not directly. Almost the same way adults in the streets look at him when they pass him by, as if he were dirty and contagious. The smile she slaps on her face only highlights that glint in her eye.

 

“Can I help you? Are you lost?”

 

Goro smiles nervously. Like he does when he wants to score a free meal by telling his sob story. Robin Hood’s presence a button press away encourages him on.

 

“I came to volunteer.”

 

She smiles and calls someone to guide him to the back.

 

* * *

 

As expected Morgana snitches. As not expected, he waits until they are all seated comfortably in LeBlanc’s attic.

 

Ryuji drowns his soda in two gulps. “Ok, no, back up! How does he know about the Metaverse?! And who are ‘they’?!”

 

Better this than arguing for the twentieth time about the morality and ethics of stealing hearts.

 

“Ryuji! No yelling! The cafe is open!” Ann smacks the bleached blonde’s shoulder, too lazy to stretch further and reach his head. She then taps her sundae’s glass with her red manicured nails. Goro has no idea how she managed to convinced Soujirou into adding it to the menu, but figures the ingredients never go to waste with her around. It probably ends as a net zero outcome in profits. Regardless, she leans forward, too focused and interested on all the wrong things. Yusuke stares, calmly, and doesn’t bat an eye as Futaba takes a sip of his drink and stares at her laptop's screen. Ann hums with a playful smile, “But yeah that, and how do you know him?”

 

“We met in there.” It’s none of their business. “And I don't know. He probably doesn't know who they are either.”

 

“But he mentioned them…” Morgana grumbles. "And you never mentioned him!"

 

"I have two years of Metaverse experiences- some things just slip my mind."

 

"Someone else knowing about the Metaverse is super important! How did that slip your mind, dude?!"

 

Yusuke saves him the trouble of replying. “Perhaps ‘they’ are the shadow with bloodied hands mast- Madarame mentioned. It wouldn’t be a reach for them to hunt us.”

 

“But how would they know we were the ones that got in their way or whatever?” Ann and Ryuji lean in closer to Yusuke, as if they were gossiping about Kawakami’s lack of sleep. They start speaking over each other, conspiracy theories that no one in Futaba’s weird forums would consider. Their volumes grow louder and louder until Goro makes a cutting gesture with his hand.

 

Morgana takes that as his turn to chime in again. “So he has a Persona?”

 

“Did he know my mom?” Futaba looks up from her laptop.

 

Those are two questions he would prefer not answering. But he does in one swoop and sips his coffee. “No.”

 

It's really none of their business.

 

“But he knows you and the Metaverse,” Futaba frowns. “And whoever _they_ are.”

 

“He wouldn't have been vague about it if he did though, no…?”

 

“Yeah, Ann is right. Like why go through the trouble of warning us if you're going to keep something that important to yourself,” Ryuji mumbles. “It's no warning if you do it like that.”

 

Goro already knows, vaguely but well enough, whom Akira meant.

 

“Oh! Wait, if he doesn't have a persona and you met in the Metaverse, does that mean you saved him from a shadow?” Ann claps excitedly.

 

Goro has learned since young that it’s best to let people make their own stories about certain aspects of his life. Such as how his schoolmates believe his parents as workaholics, how he’s a nice young man working on rehabilitating two school hooligans. How he’s a model student, a model son, and a model member of society.

If he looks proper, he'll be proper. Perception trumps truth, his spite and anger are for him alone.

 

“No, yeah, I can see it,” Ryuji snorts. Only to then make a face as he falls back on the chair, arms crossed. “Charging right in with Robin Hood to save the day.”

 

“I don't appreciate that tone, Sakamoto.”

 

The aforementioned sticks out his tongue.

 

Futaba laughs. “He saw you in that princely getup? You let an idol-slash-model see you in that?” Ryuji joins in with her laughter. “Living up to it, huh? What a dashing prince!”

 

“Oooh, Mister Prince, my saviour!”

 

“Stop teasing him!” Morgana meows loudly. “It’s not his fault that _that_ ’s what he thinks real rebellion is! Besides, it does explain why he warned you- he owes you one.”

 

“If you’re mocking me in my own house, I’m kicking you out.” Goro, for one, is glad they don't notice the fallacy in the story. The story they chose to weave raises too many questions-  how would a poor defenseless idol in distress not only have that intel, but survive long enough to present it to anyone without being partners with the perpetrator?

 

“Wh-! You don't live here! This is a cafe's attic!”

 

Ryuji wipes a tear, laughs even harder when Futaba snorts. Yusuke ignores the two, choosing instead to open up a bag of chips and bringing his chopsticks down into the bag’s bowels.

 

“Oh my god, his outfit isn’t even that bad- he makes it work!” Ann huffs as she shoves a spoonful of diabetes in her mouth.

 

Yusuke adds in his two cents between his own munching. “He suits the aesthetic. Perhaps he should get a stallion-like Persona.”

 

The conversation derails harder and faster. Goro takes a final sip from his coffee and ponders on what Akira hinted and how he would have assumed Kamoshida had a palace out of nothing.

 

Wait.

 

Goro times a chuckle to one of Ann's quips. He wonders how _he_ fits into all of this.

 

* * *

 

Wakaba doesn't ask questions about how he found her, or who it was that blabbered. She's self centered on her own hunger.

 

How careless.

 

“She's always like this,” the only other test subject in the room mumbles. Goro had dismissed him as average, unimportant. Finally giving him a second glance, Goro studied dull grey eyes,  mourning under a veil of long lashes pink lips frowning and maring what Goro would have imagined was otherwise a young and healthy face. A bruise peeks from under his sleeve, and somehow it comes across as the most curious thing in the room.

 

The boy smiles compassionately under a messy mop of black curls, eyes gaining some spark. And Goro doesn't want to lull himself into a false sense of security in enemy territory. "To be honest, I think they let you skip all the real shit tests."

 

Goro pretends not to see him, not to hear him when he calls him lucky in a warm tone, because he's aiming to sail a storm of his own summoning. It’s lonely waters, and it’s for the best.

 

He ignores him, until it's time to leave and he sees him walk out into the hallway Goro came through, down to another Goro has no idea where it leads. Not that his destination matters- that boy is trailing behind Masayoshi Shido.

 

* * *

 

The city night scape twinkles through the tall window. The glass rises from the floor to the ceiling, as expected to fit an image of decadence and power. The curtains are open wide, and without care. The office stands too high to care for prying eyes. It stands too tall and towers over the city's population. As expected, of course, from a man with grandeurs of power and immeasurable yearn for control. In the room, the man speaks loud and clear on the phone.

 

Akira eyes the rich mahogany wood. His hands trace the intricate band of details decorating the side of the desk. Carvings of ocean waves, boats and anchors have Akira wondering if all Palace owners carry their misconception so shamelessly.

 

His thick frames slip a bit down his nose. He finds comfort in their weight after not having worn them all day.

 

Behind him, Shido halts grunting into the phone. It sounds displeased. The news mustn't deter him, he begins pacing once more.

 

Akira can see it in the reflection on both the window and the too polished wood before him.

 

He should have brought a soda to spill on the desk even though he is banned from bringing food or drinks. For that very precise reason, Akira's lips tug up but he stifles them down.

 

There's a lamp on the desk. It's golden based and it looks heavy. Akira has lost count of how many times he has thought of bashing Shido's skull with it. Behind him, Shido says something, but it’s not addressed to him. He ignores it all. He already knows that the SIU director is on the line, already knows that it’s damage control over the effects of Madarame’s change of heart. He already knows, so what’s the point in listening in?

 

There’s nothing he can do to hurt Shido without it being obviously traced back to him.

 

Akira focuses on the reflective surface of the lamp, imagines what it would be like give in and hurl it like a weapon. A dumb fantasy, one he’ll never live through with for as long as he wants a life after Masayoshi Shido.

 

“See to it,” Shido enunciates like a child throwing a tantrum. At least, that’s how Akira registers it.

 

He genuinely wonders how the other candidates were like if they chose him out of all other possible options. Regardless of Shido’s bragging, his opponent might have been a donkey and a snake. And that would have been too on the nose even for the Conspiracy itself.

 

Shido sits on his leather chair and stares him down.

 

“Be more oppose to those criminals next time.”

 

“It would be suspiciou-”

 

“I’m not done speaking,” Shido cuts him off with a glare that says it all. Akira breathes in and leans back in a mockery of subservience. “I was going to praise your arguments against them, but it seems your ego is already inflated enough.”

 

A pause. Akira knows his cue. He'd love to ignore it.

 

“Sorry, sir.”

 

He only ever spat that with as much venom as he could exactly once. And never again. He doesn’t want his face to make acquaintance with any hard surface, and would much rather keep his ribs unscathed. Now, he keeps the vitriol under soft and reserved timbres.

 

Shido nods smug. “Never feed the hand that keeps you afloat in a stormy sea.”

 

Akira traces the pattern on the side of the desk absentmindedly. He thinks that's not how the saying goes at all.

 

“But I do see your point. It would be best for us if you lean in gradually on the arguments you raised and seeded more distrust with whatever it was you kept to yourself in the interview.”

 

Akira tilts his head. He hides his dread, holds back his nervous tick.“You watched it?”

 

Shido scoffs. “You think I have time for such frivolities? Brat, I wouldn’t waste my downtime keeping an eye on you. I overheard some women speaking about it and had an assistant look into it. Which reminds me, it’s good to tend to the public, but don’t let it get in the way of more important engagements.”

 

Yeah, that makes more sense. Akira breathes more easily. He didn’t see him.

 

“Speaking of which, describe them.”

 

Akira raises an eyebrow.

 

“Describe them. Or are you insinuating you went against my orders?” Shido leans forward, hands folded on the table and mouth closed in a  threatening needle thin line. Akira pushes his glasses up and sits up straighter, farther from the man that might as well be crawling with maggots.

 

“Of course not.” Akira’s eyes flicker to the lamp and his fingers twitch. “I just couldn't get close. They would have noticed me.”

 

“Is that so.” Shido doubts everything.

 

“They don't know you're involved.” Shido taps his fingers. They drum to the beat of a ticking clock. Like a countdown. “I wouldn’t lie about that- I would be in danger too if they did.”

 

Shido smirks.

 

Akira’s nail catches on the carvings of a ship, but he doesn’t chip the wood yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to remember how to be subtle again, came out edgy. Not going great shrug emoji, welcome to quick exposition  
> Feel free to point out any errors!


	3. Chapter 3

When it comes down to it, Shido is right.

He should doubt everything.

Akira feeds him scraps and lies, things he's learned to get away with over his time working for him.

He may not fully know the rules of the Metaverse, but he knows some. He knows enough. Enough to fashion Shido’s opinion into a tool. It's the difference between feeding on tales and experience.

Shido doesn't need to know that Akira makes less sound than fog, nor about his affinity to shadows.

Cognition is a powerful tool he'll use and abuse, the only way to drill a hole in a ship that doesn't exist.

Maybe he should tell him Akechi is getting sloppy. It was worryingly easy to sneak up on them in Madarame's disgusting excuse for a museum. Maybe it would be best to add his lack of awareness to his dossier. Just in case he manifests in-

No, he'll find a way into the inner chamber before it comes down to that. He refuses to let someone else fall prey to this.

If he could spare him, then maybe, they would aid him back.

Akira clicks his heels, stalks the dark tunnels of the cognitive underground unperceived. Shrugging, he twirls his knife as he lets the thought lie. This is not the time nor the place  to lose oneself in what if's. Mementos plays and whispers with the goal to drag him down and deeper.

He'll deal with whatever happens, later.

For now, he dances, sings, with-

* * *

Goro stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

He adjusts his blazer, pulls at the turtleneck.

Button up shirts are more his style. He tugs at the fabric around his neck one last time before adjusting it too.

The dark bags under his eyes have been steadily fading with Morgana’s impose sleeping schedule, but they are still present enough. With the dregs of sleep still clinging onto his bones and exertion thrumming along his muscles, Goro fumbles for his concealer.

He applies it perfectly, combs his hair and ensures not a single strand strays from its place.

His right arm aches, a dull hurt that he can easily pass for being a left over from exercising. There’s no need to mention it to any of his "teammates", he can’t deal with unnecessary questions. He makes a note to hit the gym before their next excursion as he exits the bathroom and heads downstairs.

“Another psychotic breakdown occurred last night. A member of the Diet was forced to resign-”

His twin sized bed is still at Morgana’s mercy, Goro hops down the stairs to find the news playing on the TV. Soujirou watches it distractedly as he sips a late morning coffee, lounging on the couch as if he had nowhere else to be. Well, Goro mused, the cafe was a retirement activity. He flops down besides him.

“Ah, Goro.” He switches the channels and puts on morning cartoons.

“Good morning. I see you're taking it slow today,” Goro smiles before it slides into a playful pout. “This is not Featherman R. Go back to the news.”

Soujirou barks a laugh. After all this time, he is still not used to it- It sounds just like Goro always imagined a real father’s would. Warmly loud, startling and ringing like home. Goro's lips twitch upwards giddily, clearing the furrow of his brows.

“Brat, I saw you watching this last week.”

Prim and proper, Goro smiles. “Futaba was hogging the remote.”

The only way the Sakuras could be more perfect of a family would have been if Wakaba had never engaged with his real father in any way and so willingly. If only she hadn't been so hyper focused on her research, she would still walk among them. If she hadn't been so hyper focused, then maybe Shido’s dog wouldn't have been able to sneak up on her.

The Sakuras would have made a lovely family of three.

He feels no empathy for her death though. She only helped him for her own selfish gain.

Typical of Shido’s entourage. Typical of himself too, but at least he does it for justice.

Goro only pities the two Sakuras left behind.

“Yeah, sure. You didn't try to take it, so as far as I'm concerned, you like this.” Soujirou stands up, complaining about his old bones. “Urgh, alright. Time for you to eat breakfast and scram to class, VP.”

Goro sighs. He wishes his life was truly as it seems.

* * *

After school, the gossiping in the hall is deafening. It echoes all the way up to the rooftop.

A testament, really, of how careless students are.

“Man, this is crap!” Ryuji crushes his recently emptied soda can. “A pretty boy says a thing and then everyone parrots it for days!”

Their phone buzz, they ignore Futaba's teasing Ryuji for calling the idol pretty in the group chat.

“Ryuji, Kurusu-kun said they should think for themselves, you were there!” Ann chides. Ryuji plays with the crushed aluminum making it pop only to then press it down again. “And! He's technically on our side.”

All their phones buzz again, this time Yusuke texting his confusion at Futaba's words.

“Yeah well, he still talked shit about us and the whole school is repeating it- hey.” Ryuji extends the can away from Ann's reach.

“Your fidgeting is noisy!”

Goro reads Futaba’s sassing Yusuke, which flies directly over his head, out of the window and somehow lands in the river Ryuji likes to fish at.

“No, it's not! And yours is way louder.” Ryuji protests before Morgana stalks towards him, intent to claw fully clear. “Fine, but like it still sucks. We're doing our best to help people as the Phantom Thieves and everyone is saying we're criminals,” he sighs animatedly, shoulders slouching with his morale. “Yo, Goro-senpai, what do you think?”

Goro thinks the current outcome was obvious from the start. He pockets his phone.

“I think I told you not to call me by first name in public. And to be careful, you'll get us caught.” He crosses his arms and taps a rhythm on his biceps. Ryuji sticks out his tongue and Ann giggles. They always ignore the distance he builds. It makes things harder than they have to be. “I also think they are jumping the gun on what he said. While I do agree with the points he raised, his position was much more nuanced than the media makes it to be.”

It grosses him out to admit it- he might as well be saying he agrees with that man.

“Yeah, people like to twist things to make them more dramatic.” Ann kicks her legs. “It’s sooooo unnecessary.”

“Don't you love rom-coms? Don’t complain about unnecessary drama.” Ryuji tosses the can at her. She catches it with a pout. “Though, that crap, yeah, you went through it first hand.”

Morgana’s ears fall. “That's sad.”

Ann tosses the can back.

“It's the nature of the masses, it can't be helped. Remember, people used to side with Kamoshida and think of Madarame as a gentle old man.” Goro watches the cat swipe the can out of the air. His fingers tighten on his forearms. “Did you call this meeting for a reason? I have things to do.”

He could be working on usurping Shido. On distancing the thieves from him but keeping them close enough to-

“Oh yeah, ” Ryuji messes up his hair by passing an over enthusiastic hand through it. “Do we have a new target yet?”

Morgana’s dejected flop onto the ground with a pitiful sound is answer enough.

“Then you’re free to go, you proper member of society.” Ann snorts when Ryuji waves him off.

Shaking his head, Goro feels his lips twitch into a smile. He tones it down to a ghost. He waits for Morgana to hop back into his bag before heading to the rooftop door.

“Oh wait!” Ryuji calls out. He rummages through his bag and takes out a crumpled leaflet. Goro has no idea how it hasn’t been ripped to shreds. “Mishima gave me this a while back. I never had the balls to call it.”

Ann swipes the paper from his hand. “Urgh, gross! Does he think a maid service ad is how you repay a Phantom Thief?”

“Does he _still_ think Ryuji is the leader?” Morgana questions as he props his head on Goro’s shoulder. The grimace on Ryuji’s face is the only answer he needs. “But why would he latch onto you when Lady Ann is _right_ there?”

“Uhm, he can keep Mishima, thanks.” Ann stuffs the ad in Goro’s bag. “I have Shiho. And Goro is busy.”

“Dude. That’s cold. And you’re our fire expert.”

Goro leaves before the two can begin arguing again.

He closes the door to the rooftop behind him as Ann and Ryuji start fighting with the can again. Their playful fight muffled behind him and he lightly jogs down the stairs, choking down the slight fondness he feels when their laughter dances behind him.

He's known them for barely three months. Maybe four, at most.

He switches his focus on the wasted time. He has preparation for future expeditions to do- their weapons have been looking more and more dull as time goes by, their armour scratched and banged up. It’s only a matter of time before cognition makes them all fall apart.

Reaching the second floor, Goro is broken out of his thoughts. There, he finds Nijima Makoto and meets her death glare with a nod. His pace unfaltering, Goro continues forward with confident strides.

“She’s scary,” Morgana whispers once they are far away enough. "Is she ok?"

“Leave her alone, she can’t do anything about her face.” Goro chuckles. “She’s a pushover anyway.”

"That's not what I mean! She looks stressed."

Besides, it helps finding her in a crowd.

"She's the school president," Goro replies as if that's explanation enough.

* * *

 Akira enters the room.

Tall lamps, reflectors and cameras build a temporary silver jungle. Eyes watch his every movement from between man made trees, as usual. He expertly dodges the cabling, it's more dangerous than tree roots if one doesn't watch their step.

Also, much more expensive.

Akira is proud to say he has only tripped twice in his career. His real job does wonders to his walking in hazardous zones. Moreover, the incentive to reduce all contact with his employer as much as possible works miracles.

The photographer faces his camera's screen, shoulders hunched as his attention centers solely on the pictures he flips through.

Akira slides besides the man, watches with him.

Most photographs are of young women, pretty models in demure and slim poses. Colorful and poppy, a brunette and a twin tailed blond pose together amidst balloons and confettis. The photographer lingers on an image of the two, tea and snacks scattered on a table in front of them, the modelling set up behind and out of focus as the brunette points and snarks at the naively smiling blonde.

They look good, chemistry obvious and probably begrudging if the brunette’s body language has anything to say about it.

“You should probably ask before using that one.” Akira hums, the lines of their faces look far too natural in the screen. A seemingly candid shot that makes his stomach churn. He memorizes the two models just in case.

The photographer splutters, offended. “Naturally, I’m a professional.”

Akira shrugs. He quickly stands up tall and poised, uncomfortable in his skin but filling the expectations pushed onto him. Asakura Shiro was a professional too.

“No, rather-” the man frowns. “What makes you think it wasn’t planned?”

“That one has crumbs on her face. And lap.”

“You have a frighteningly good eye.” The photographer chuckles. “It adds to the cute image she likes to project. It works well but don't worry. These are all staged.”

Akira clicks the button, reveals another shot-

The photographer shoos his hand away. With a wolfish grin, he winks at the idol.

And Akira isn’t - and will never be- in on that joke. He used to be the punchline. But the leash on his neck is currently too tight.

Then the camera switches modes, lense focused on the decor it faces. A skirt of shimmery black fringes covering the wall in layers that Akira has no doubt would swallow him up if he stood in front of. His eyes fall to the ground, a realistic and probably taxidermied black jaguar lies with its glass eyes staring in the distance.

Akira raises an eyebrow at the other man calling the makeup staff.

“Yeah, this perfume brand is kind of an odd one.” The man speaks as he plays with the settings on his equipment. From his peripheral, Akira sees a woman trotting towards him. “But they have a cat logo, you like cats and you sell.”

Akira nods, keeps his venom about the double entendre to himself for now.

His eyes sweep over the set as the woman calls for his attention. He turns on his heels with a smile, a small bow that is mostly just for show. It makes her giggle as she introduces herself and guides him towards the vanity set in the back.

He doesn’t know what his producers envision for the shoot.

Probably nothing other than small colourful rectangles that fit nicely in a wallet.

Despite it all, they are better than Asakura.

* * *

 Goro wonders, as he waits patiently for the train to Shibuya, if Nijima truly believes she is fooling anyone.

He opens the front camera on his phone, spares a momentary glance at the school president mere meters away from him holding a magazine upside down before shutting the screen off all the while pretending to check his hair. His eyes roll and Morgana shuffles against his side.

She probably does think no one notices her.

“What is she doing…?”

“I have no idea.”

The underclassmen besides Goro gossip. He’d feel bad for her if she weren’t so much like Akira in the only ways that matter- the worst ways.

“Is she, like, practicing reading upside down or?”

“Do people actually do that?”

Both of them are nothing more than puppets for rotten adults. But at least Akira dances for a man with actual tangible influence and not some glorified fool.

When the train finally arrives, Goro wastes no time boarding.

He sets course for Iwai’s shop, mentally calculating how much money to spend on new equipment as well as which labyrinth of a path to take to lose Nijima along the way.

* * *

The moon shines high, alone, stars devoured by the pollution of the city and Akira stumbles through his apartment's door with last minute take out from the convenience store nearby.

Passing by the bug in the light fixture besides the entrance, he falls onto the couch and eats.

He tells himself he doesn't miss home cooked meals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes more exposition and set up. P5 is a really long game you guys.
> 
> Its ok, they will be nicer to Makoto once she joins the crew. Can't wait until I get to the parts I can write more drawn out. And yes this will be more on the slowburn side.


	4. Chapter 4

“Reallyyyy…?!” Morgana whines. He drawls out the syllable into a yawn, revealing small pointy teeth. The kind one would expect of a cat. Also the same kind that feels like the pin prick of needles when they bite into your toes. Goro has yet to appreciate this morning's rude awakening. “it's too early for this! She's following us at this hour?!”

The cat's head peeking out of the bag from under his arms bumps into him.

“Get back in the bag.” He'd prefer a different choice of words, out of spite. But it would be unsightly. He hasn't cursed in front of anyone after Wakaba and Akira. Goro wriggles his toes in his shoes.

Those were accidents anyway.

Morgana groans. “It's fine, no one is paying attention.”

“We are literally being stalked.”

“She's still holding the magazine upside down.” Goro doesn't doubt it. He still shoves Morgana back in as subtly as he can, the cat reluctantly accepting his fate. “It's been three days and she hasn't noticed me yet.”

He sighs, heavily as he waits for the train. Too used to scrutiny, Goro can put two and two together easily enough- she never acts fast enough without any supervision.

He'll have to be more careful than not at all around the principal and Nijima if he wants his image unharmed.

* * *

Akira slinks through alleys and shade. Glasses hiding him behind reflections, loose comfortable clothes painting him a no one. It's early morning, Shido's convenient deal with the school giving him _free_ reign.

What a joke. He had more freedom under Wakaba's scrutiny, scalpels and electrodes.

What's a bigger farce is how deep Shido sank his claws into the industry.

At the gate of Mementos with a pressing hit in hand, Akira considers stepping out of line. As he is about to take a step, a text makes up his mind for him.

He'll reply to her as soon as he is out, because maybe he can arrange for Metaverse to go unused for that. He forgets how, sometimes, people are more than trustworthy. He marks the text unread, a reminder just in case he stays longer than expected on the other side. After double checking that the notification remains, Akira pulls up the Metaverse App.

The world blurs, he catches glimpse of a familiar face, uniform and brown locks.

Akira only thinks faintly about how those two have similar jaws. And how unfortunate it is.

* * *

 The teachers drones on about romanticism. She sighs soliloquies about beauty in the ugly and rotten. It makes Goro scoff under his breath.

“It's fascinating, wouldn't you say?” She turns to the class with a flourish. “A whole movement, so enamoured with the idea of beauty it strives to paint it out of carcasses-”

Goro tunes her out and sneaks his phone out of his pocket.

Goro A.: _No more rooftop meetings._

Ann T.: _booooooooo_

Ryuji S.: _wdym???_

Goro A.: _I brought to attention the broken lock. It won't be a safe spot anymore._

Ryuji S.: _y did u snitch on urself_

Ann T.: _yeah why!!!!_

Yusuke K.: _Was the rooftop important?_

Ryuji S.: _ya it's our campus pt base we told u this_

Futaba S.: _aaaaand that's probably why_

Goro presses the lock button of his phone, catching a glimpse of his reflection on the screen. It looks off, something is wrong. He doesn't want to mull on it, he puts his phone away.

“- where the author compares his lover’s eventual death to roadkill, and the awe found in the decomposition of flesh-”

Today isn't rearing up to be a good day.

Mona's tail flicks against his thigh. “That's so weird.”

It's stupid. Goro drums his pencil against his notes. Anything can sound appealing when veiled by the right words until one sees it.

He was born after all.

And his glorified sperm donor is doing well whereas his mother would be six feet under if she hadn't been cremated. Futaba thinks of Wakaba as a gentle and kind woman. Kamoshida and Madarame were hailed as heroes.  Akira sold something away and decided to throw in all virtues while he's at it. Nijima barks for a recommendation letter-

Perception is confused with reality, but it's more fickle than Ann when choosing a dessert. 

Romanticism is just another word for illusion, distortion, a craft he is more than acquaintances. It's also synonym with Akira, a treacherous part of him whispers.

He kills the thought. Neither their situations or their personalities have any similarities.

Goro doesn't pay attention to the rest of the class. Romantism is lying to the audience, and he is more than well versed in that.

Too few clouds float lazily in the sky.

It would feel like losing what truly makes him _him_ if it did.

* * *

In Shibuya crossing the very next day, Ann hooks her arm around his. He makes no mistake about what it means- it's the simple snare of a cobra. But he probably can't say the same about Nijima, who is as subtle as always with her trailing, and her shocked face is noticeable all the way from Yongen-Jaya. He is needlessly proven right about the hold when Ann drags him to the crepe store.

He'll admit he prefers this over accompanying Ann to photoshoots. They pass by magazine racks displayed on a convenience store, Goro avoids Akira’s face in favour of Ann's. His eyes stray anyway.

He shakes his head. Ann’s new shoot wasn’t published yet. Excusing himself with that, Goro calls out to Ann.

“Didn't you say you'll cut back on sweets…?”

“Uhm.. well.” Ann squeezes his arm tighter. Morgana mutters. Goro deflates. “One or two more per week won't hurt. So!”

Ann is not gentle when she lets go in favour for patting his shoulder.

“What are you getting? I want the double choco-”

“I'm not buying you a crepe.” He's done that dance before and it’s awful. Even if the crepes do end up tasting better with company. And it doesn’t matter he always used to end up succumbing- this time will be the exception.

Morgana gasps dramatically. And it probably wasn't in jest. “You're not-- lady Ann, _I_ would be honoured to buy you one! Or two! As many as you want!”

“Awww, thank you!” She reaches into his bag to rub Morgana's head. “Too bad they can't understand you. And you!” She jabs a finger to his cheek. “You are so cheap! I promise not to order as much as last time.”

“I doubt that. And you would have a cat but you crepes?” Goro double takes as said cat chirps in victory. “Never mind. Of course you would. Don't you have a job?"

“Uh-huh!” Ann replies happily as she traps his arm again and drags him to the cashier. Her hand sneaks to his waist like a coiling cobra. And she sinks her snake teeth swiftly into his hip.

He gives up, pays for the two of them. Ann stops pinching his side.

“Urgh, I thought she would be put off if we were being lovey dovey, but Mrs. Prez over there is still at it,” Ann steals one of Goro's strawberries. He retaliates by stealing one back.

It only serves to get Ann looking at him as if he just confessed to a death wish, one she would happily aid with. Her rapid blinking and taut smile promise retribution. Goro cracks a smile, he always tries his luck when it comes to food.

“Is that what you are trying to do? Your acting isn't the best and you know that...”

At least Nijima is too far away to hear what they are saying in such a crowded street.

“I’m practicing!” Ann bumps her shoulder to his, the motion too playful for him. He knows Ryuji would bump back, that Futaba would pretend to fall only to then use it as an excuse to latch onto Ann, that Yusuke would adamantly ask for her to still so he can draw with no ounce of shame.

The jealousy he feels at how easy going, and how quickly, they all are with each other is unbecoming. It's not his fault he knows better, about privacy and time. So Goro just does what he always does when he has no idea how to react. He smiles pleasantly with a tilt of his head.

“Hm… oh- that's why you snitched about the rooftop!” Ann exclaims brightly between a bite and the next. “Not _just_ cause of Ryuji, oooh…”

“Stop hanging out so much with that numb skull…!” Morgana whines from the bag. “You make his words sound cooler, and I don't want to go around repeating them!”

Ann laughs, and then looks at Goro with questioning eyes.

Goro takes a bites out of his crepe. “It is the main reason, yes. She was told by the principal to find the phantom thieves.”

“Wow,” Ann's burrow frown. She mulls over it for a handful of seconds. When she speaks again, it's obvious that she struggles to keep her voice leveled and her eyes burn with anger. “So she'd let people who saved students from Kamoshida get punished? First she doesn't do anything, she pretty much let Shiho-”

Goro squeezes her fist. Morgana peeks out of the bag and bumps his head against her arm.

Ann blinks rapidly, staring at their hands. “Oh, sorry, I didn't…”

“We talked about it.” Goro lets go. “Most of the members of the student council thought they were baseless rumours.”

“I know. I know, but…That doesn’t excuse them not looking into it.”

“I'm as much to blame as her.”

“No way!” Ann smacks the hand he holds his crepe with, effectively shoving the treat into his face. “You did help!” Goro is still recovering from the sudden attack as she starts devouring her own treat with gusto. “This got so sad, I gotta cheer myself up! Come on, we have to go shopping now!”

Morgana, as expected, indulges and enables her with cheers.

Goro takes longer to finish his food, but he manages in time for the first of Ann's bags. He finds himself powerless as the events from last time he bought crepes unfold again. Holding all the bags serves as a workout, he supposes. He could blame his hurting arm on it.

When he gets home, his phone buzzes.

Ann T.: _ALRIGHT! so here's the REAL deal about the rooftop!!_

Goro mutes the chat and tries to sleep.

It only works so much, Futaba barges into his room yelling.

“You're being stalked?! Again?!”

* * *

Futaba spent the night concocting a revenge plan the likes only a top class cyber criminal would. Excuse him, top class hacker. Goro could only hold her back so much. He regrets wasting his night trying. The unplanned student council meeting bored him and eats away at the time he could spend studying. Or napping. Or sneaking around Mementos with Loki and Robin Hood.

Maybe he could catch a glimpse of Akira, follow him, get an up and a new in on Shido. Or maybe use another one of Futaba's targets. 

“If no one has any questions or comments, then we'll conclude the meeting here. Again, thank you for making it in such a short notice,” the student body president's words cut through the sleepy haze fogging Goro's brain.

If he can't even pay attention to one foolish meeting, then there's no way he'd be able to catch Akira. Or deal with people as rotten as the ones flocking around Shido. He stands, goes through his usual motions as he politely waits for the other students to pile up their belongings and leave.

Just like always, Makoto Nijima stands besides him in the council room as they watch the other members file out.

He can't even get lucky enough to see Akira in Mementos on the best of days, today would be an even bigger lost cause. He doesn't let the spark of anger that thought births show.

Goro distracts himself with how he should have been the third out the door, not the first, and should have walked out into the hallway in an unhurried pace instead of the polite display he made himself known for.

Before he can leave, after the last student left, Nijima stops him with a cough. Goro turns to the student body president with a questioning glint in his eyes, a curious kind smile cutting his face. The scorn he meets marring her face is frigid, moreso than usual. Her fingers massage her brows, a heavy sigh escaping her lips in a small moment of weakness.

“Nijima?”

Whatever pressure she is under will be cut into pieces, parts of it falling onto his shoulders to lessen the burden. And it’s a pain in the ass if he were being honest. He abhors every second of it, every single task he has to play pretend so that the adults lower their guards around the guise of an exemplary student.

Exemplary means subservient for them.

Maybe, he would be happier if he truly believed those tasks to be for everyone's best.

From the corner of his eye, Goro sees his bag wriggling on his chair. He calls the president’s attention onto himself and tilts his head pleasantly. In front of someone that harps about duty, he doesn’t let it slip he is only in the council for himself. “What can I help you with?”

Nijima’s bloodied gaze zeroes in on him, but it’s a bark with no bite. Goro waits.

“Sit down,” she says as she pulls the chair out harshly. “You must find it funny.”

Goro takes the chair directly in front of her and places his school bag, Morgana, under the desk and out of sight. “I must confess I don't know what this is about.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I would genuinely cut to the point if I did, Nijima.”

Her face morphs from self deprecating to barely contained anger. The harsh lines of her expression cutting through the mask of control she attempts to carve. “I have a hard time believing you don't already know the principal is looking for you.”

Goro doesn't miss a beat. Armed with a confused frown, he leans forward and lies his hands innocently on the table. “What do you mean?”

A bang rings in the room, Nijima’s hand is splayed wise on the table as her face twists into something angrier. It's hardly the most intimidating sight he's seen, but Goro pulls back nonetheless and stares at her with wide eyes. He slips into the apprehensive innocent role with ease.

He wonders if she honestly believes she can threaten him.

“You're more than aware about what task he assigned me!” Her voice fights a losing battle to stay leveled. “Why did you decide to do something as childish as that Phantom Thief debacle?!” If looks could kill, Goro would have found himself gutted on the floor. She talks over him. “Why didn't you come to me if you had proof about Kamoshida’s-? Do you have any idea how you're making all of us look?”

“Calm down-”

“Do not tell me to calm down! I have no idea how you pulled off getting Madarame or Kamoshida to confess either, but it is my- and the school's- duty to protect the students. You've painted us as the perpetrators!”

What Goro would give to be in Mementos right now.

He matches her tone. “Then honour your duty and stop flinging baseless accusations!”

Makoto smirks. Victorious and cold, she allows the silence to yell. It becomes a crescendo, because how would she-

She reaches into her bag, and the audio recording she took out plays.

_“We're doing our best to help people as the Phantom Thieves and everyone is saying we're criminals. Yo, Goro-senpai, what do you think?”_

Goro chuckles while Morgana squirms inside the bag, noticeably. “That hardly-”

The recording continues and his own voice cuts him off.

Makoto's smirk spreads into a grin.

“So you found out Sakamoto is into roleplay.”

She crosses her arms, unimpressed. “We both know what it actually sounds like. And how desperate the principal is to find an scapegoat.”

Goro's eyes don't stray from hers. His posture relaxes into something tall, something apathetic. “So you've lost sight of your duty.”

Makoto bares her teeth.

“I always wondered through how many loops you'll jump for some referral letter.” He picks up his belongings and swings his bag over his shoulder as he walks away. "But I thought you would have more dignity than this."

When the doors closed behind him, he hears a crash.

Morgana peeks out of the bag and latches onto his shoulder. “Oh, this is bad.” His claws dig into the blazer and nick his skin.

Goro reaches to pat him, but he starts kneading. His claws remain unsheathed and Goro curses under his breath. “We need a meeting, stat!”

Goro groans and shoots a text in the chat.

* * *

Disoriented, Akira wakes up from his nap. A dimly lit bar comes to view, the smell of alcohol stifled by a flowery perfume. He slides back in the plush purple of the booth and groans. His dreams of vague shapes and sharp jaws melt before they get the chance to tear his flesh.

Besides him, Ohya slams her drink on the table. Akira reminds himself that he is no longer scourging the Metaverse.

“Keep ‘em coming, Lala!” He feels the sofa move with the reporter's excited bouncing. “And Aki-chan-”

“Stop calling me that-”

“- woke up- get him some water, please! He's cranky.”

He fell asleep at Crossroads waiting for the reporter to show up. He would have been saved the embarrassment if Shido didn't have people to make connections between the incidents and his investors for him. Non magical channels to get things done are slow.

They are also out of his control, and he worries over the possible repercussions.

Still, he can't do nothing.

Akira grumbles and the bar owner laughs. He throws an arm over his eyes, and the next thing he knows, he is being pulled up and forced to sit properly. Water glass with lime slices stands innocently besides his discarded glasses before him. Lala ruffles his hair affectionately.

“Thank you, Lala.”

“And thank you, dearest Ohya, you goddess of journalism!” the reporter winks.

Akira doubles down on the childishness and makes a face. “No way, you coined that stupid nickname and I'm holding a grudge forever.”

“But anyone could have come up with that!” She pouts dramatically, not to be outdone.”It was only a matter of time before an interviewer called you that.”

“Yet you were the first,” Lala helpfully supplied. Akira points at her words and nods.

Akira likes them. They are fun. They don't act like he's been told and shown adults must.

“You two are bullies. And _you're_ the one that called me to set up the fakerview here.” Ohya fiddles with the straw of her drink. He first came to Ohya's favourite haunting during a second, real, interview. It's a peaceful atmosphere, one Akira is forever grateful for. One he knows will evaporate as Ohya squares her shoulders and puts on a business face. “I’ll need you to talk if you have something you need me to look into. “ She takes out a Manila folder and extends it to him.

The atmosphere also sour when Akira recalls why Ohya spends so much time in this bar in the first place.

She pulls back the folder when he reaches for it.

“Why can't we just make a secret code or something for you to send requests through the phone?” Her state sharpens. “You're too busy to do meet up just whenever.”

“Let's say my employer is _that_ over the top. I'm not risking it with the bugs.” He keeps it vague because he already hurt her enough. And it's true anyway. If Masayoshi Shido weren't so aggressively straight, Akira would think he gets off on any opportunity he gets to torture him. He certainly seems to enjoy causing women pain. “Just give me the paper so I can write down what I know.”

Ohya takes out one sheet from the folder and hands it to him. “So how did you find them?”

“I worked with him a few days ago and saw him looking at photos on his camera.” It figures that Ohya knew what he wanted already.

“Just like that?”

Lala huffs. “Gotta be able to recognize that kind of vermin in the entertaining world of you want to survive.”

Akira sighs. “He thought I’d approve or something.”

Lala takes offense and shows it for him.

“That’s an issue,” Ohya hums. “So you're telling me the only evidence we know exists is in his camera?”

“Didn't have a USB or something on me.” Akira shrugs and takes a sip of his water. Staring at the condensation gathering on the glass and inching to his hand, Akira deadpans, “I'll bring one from now on.”

“Sure kid, you definitely want to be put under stricter surveillance,” Lala chides. “I find it hard to believe neither of you two have such troubles learning the arts of subtlety yet.”

“Hey, I'll have you know I'm a master at it. I don't know about Ohya though.” Akira twirls his phone on one sole fingertip.

“Wow! Unbelievable! I haven't gotten fired yet you know,” Ohya whines and kicks her feet childishly under the table. Lala rolls her eyes with a smile and Akira raises an eyebrow, herds them back to business.

“How much time would you need?”

“I don't know. It seems like I'll pretty much have to start from zero.” She hands the folder to him with heavy shoulders so that he can tidy it up. He knows her tricks and plays along.”Plus, people are so reluctant to expose things when the person is alive.” Ohya takes a gulp of her drink, completely forgoing the straw.. “You know what assignments they stuck me with.”

“Yes, I was there when we met at my interview.”

Ohya mocks shock at the dryness in his tone. “Oh, he's always so grumpy after a nap. Lala, whack him!”

Lala does so, using the documents. His hair absorbs the non-hit, Akira snorts a laugh.

“I'll need time to dig up proof, Aki-kun.”

“I know.”

“We could speed things up if we pretend I'm interviewing you for an afternoon. Like a more important interview than today's, if you have any important work coming up, that is.At least, that would give me more freedom to run around unsupervised.”

Akira nods. He swallows the guilt.

Lala watches him through a lens of empathy.

“Oh yeah, don't forget to answer the questions on the pink paper. I need to do a column on you and I'm feeling lazy and want two more drinks. Think of it as one of those personality quizzes.”

Lala states. “Can't even be bothered to play along and ask them. What a professional.”

Ohya shimmies in her seat with a grin as she lifts her cup to her lips.

* * *

"Ugh, she's so clean. I couldn't dig up anything against her.” Futaba scowls at her screen and her typing increases in volume.

Ann squats besides her, leaning her face on her palm. “Maybe try for something embarrassing?”

“Isn't audio recording like that illegal?” Ryuji kneels on Futaba's other side, not even pretending to understand what goes on in the screen. He looks at the two girls. “Can we use that?”

“I'm flanked by a gorgeous blond dummy and a jock-for-legs blond dummy,” the hacker groans. Ann thanks her and Ryuji has no idea what Futaba referred him with means.

Morgana flicks his tail as he sits on the desk. Yusuke eats a snack besides the feline, eyes pensive. “To think we would have to stoop this low. This sort of exertion… are we fast becoming like Mast- Madarame?”

Goro scoffs. Like Madarame…?

“No way- this is self defence! How can we keep helping others if you guys get locked up?” Morgana starts pacing around. “No palace, but maybe she's in Mementos…? There's gotta be something we can do.“

The old man ruined hopes and dreams. They are only after liberating victims from people like him. Breaking rotten eggs isn't nefarious.

“Goro, you're being too quiet.” The not cat hops into the couch with him and headbutts his bicep. “We'll figure it out! We'll find a way to change her mind!”

“Surprised you didn't say heart,” Ryuji jokes.

And it makes Morgana hiss, he starts yelling about the severity of the situation and Goro cracks a smile as the two bicker.

He mules about influences, about family. His eyes trail to Futaba and Ann as they chatter over the laptop, and he thinks how maybe they do have an ace up their sleeves. Nijima does have something she treasures, and it could be used to sink her plans.

His phone buzzes. The notification light blinks, a preview from Nijima's text visible on the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (me trying to cram all these events so I can f i n a l l y get to more akeshu interactions) pats makoto i'm sorry my girl but you did join them by blackmail and making them hate u at the start it's ok she'll get to explain herself and make friends
> 
> And also I'm too lazy so im throwing this as it is to the wolves.  
> (Btw that was an actual French poem I had to read)


	5. Chapter 5

Akira shoves his glasses onto his face before leaving the bar. Unhurried, he walks into the slowly waking Shinjuku street. The underbelly of Tokyo surges with the setting of the sun, with the city buildings sink into its light. The twilight hours are not a particularly pretty sight, the orange streaks blinding as they shine through the obstacles and into his eyes. Akira roots for the man made towers seeking to paint the sky black. They are canines which hunger to devour the sky and the cement roads are the city's tongue. They lap at the drooling light, unable to taste but reflect.

Akira carefully moves through the growing shadows.

Though, saying all light is rejected is wrong too. The city has to absorbed light, otherwise-

His phone buzzes, a call's pattern. He sinks out of his mind into the nearest alley.

“Hello?”

“Kuroyama Hidehiko, psychotic breakdown.”

Shido immediately hangs up.

“Wow,” Akira slips his phone into his pocket, barely resisting the urge to bash his head against the wall. Leaning his back against it helps fight the impulse. Barely. “Seriously. Did the guy diss his suit or what.”

Except he caves in anyway, and he bumps the back of his head against the surface.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone again. And tomorrow is a busy day too…

Akira supposes it’s lucky there's some time left before night after all.

Tokyo’s underbelly keeps busy.

* * *

Goro is undeniably curious as to what Nijima schemes. He shrugs as he relays the message to the rest who answer with varying degrees of spite and curiousity. He is quick to accept Futaba eavesdropping, quicker to reject Yusuke’s presence in the meeting.

“I mean, he is right. It would be weird for a student of another school to be there,” Ann worries her lip. She curls one of her pigtails around her finger.

“Why are we even going?” The bleached blond whines and runs a hand down his face.

Yusuke eats away at his snacks, a thoughtful frown marring his face. “I suppose there's not much else you can do. She has you cornered as well as your names recorded. Are you certain you won't require my assistance?”

Ryuji hops his right foot up and down. The anxious habit eats away at the bravado of his squaring shoulders. “Nah. ‘Sides, it’s always good to have back up! We could use you guys and Mona as an alibi by having you do phantom stuff without us.”

There’s a sour taste on Goro's tongue that he can’t swallow down. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Although, I must say we aren't quite out of options yet.” Even if he knows they would never hide anything from him, Goro still doubts. It's in his nature, it's what got him so far.

He clings to his lifeline.

“Oooooh? Wait!” Futaba hops up and rushes at him. “You know her weakness-”

“It’s a theory-”

“-and you didn’t tell me, your hacker extraordinaire, about it?!” Futaba pouts and steps on his shoe. She is weightless and it hurts less than Morgana walking on him. “Do you want to get blackmailed? I'll leak your Featherman opening covers!!”

If Ryuji did in fact choke on his tongue, Goro will happily take a seat on the spare cafe bench and watch him asphyxiate.

“Of course you bugged your own home's kitchen.”

“No fighting.” Morgana leisurely walks between them, rubs his body between their legs. “Everything will be fine. Tomorrow, we’ll go see what she wants and Futaba will listen in. Goro, call out her weakness if you feel we are losing.”

Murmured agreement, and Goro watches them file out the attic.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he busies them by turning them away from the stairs. 

Outside the attic window, orange light paints the sky and bleeds to red and purple. It coats the city in a swelling bruise, that man’s voice bubbles to him from the television downstairs and Goro snorts at how fitting the view is, how grating the sound is.

At the cafe’s entrance, he finds Ryuji waiting.

* * *

Wakaba scribbles diligently on her clipboard.

“The Metaverse is so fascinating.” She keeps writing, talking to no one in front of two boys and a comatosed body. Her own white lab coat hides the sleeping figures face from Goro's eyes. “Three days and the test subject still hasn't come back to us.”

Ink drips from down to the floor at her feet. Akira gestures at it subtly, uselessly. Goro could throw a hissy fit and he's certain Wakaba wouldn't even blink. Akira probably wouldn’t either- his face is blank, as always.

“Moreover, items obtained from its shadow still manifest in reality. This is concluded from-”

So he talks loudly, impetuous. “So her fountain pen is leaking.”

“All new test subjects exposed to the object register it as real and as-”

Akira shoves him, just enough, to see a weeping familiar face. And he doesn't say anything when Goro rushes out of the room with a hand over his mouth.

“No physical deformities- all damage seems to be contained in the brain…”

* * *

It’s dark out.

The pounding of his feet as he runs along the park trail echoes in his ears. It’s the beat of the chased, and Goro was only ever meant to be the predator. He’ll turn things around. He can. He will- Nijima seems like the type to be quick to hesitate if an adult doesn’t hold her hand.

Goro scoffs. He has better ideas on what to do with his time than waste it on such a lackluster opponent. He is supposed to be better. There's a canoe that broke free from the rest gently floating down the center of the park lake. They keep running.

Ryuji frowns at him. And Goro supposes that that's what it is. He is better, better alone, better unrestrained by the chains of an audience's eyes.

“How the eff am I still hearing you thinking?” Ryuji starts speeding up his run.

Goro keeps up without much exertion. “I assure you, you're imagining things.”

Ryuji huffs.

“Man, I gotta stop asking you to train with me. You're only bearable when rock climbing,” Ryuji groans as they finish the lap around the park. They start a light jog to wind down. “I don’t get why you accepted Prez's invite. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one out of all of us?”

He is. “I assure you, your annoyance didn't escape my notice.”

“Stop with the assuring!” Ryuji cries as he shakes his head. “Are you really that stressed about this…? You lost all your vocabulary man. Mona says she can't actually back up the claim other than with the recorder.” They fall into a brisk walk that dies down. “And, even if it's a nerd thing to do, Ann and I will say we were role playing.”

“Didn't you say you could see me actually doing that..?” Goro is tempted to extent his leg just right.

Ryuji widens the distance between them, a reminder that what he lacks in brains he makes up for in instinct.

There's a branch a few ways forward- on the path they follow, a bit to the left.

“Dude, I call you a nerd five times a day,” Ryuji snorts. “You help Futaba with her Pink/Green roleplay thread. Everyone knows that. C’mon keep up.”

Goro steps on the branch. He relishes on the snapping sound.

“Hell, we can say we were pretending to be the thieves so we could get popular. We'll figure something out.”

He replies with a noncommittally hum.

Their pace slows down to a brisk walk as they merge into the main area of the park. It isn’t late, but it’s rather deserted- no couples holding hands, no rebellious kids taunting their curfews with loud giggles. There are only boats floating peacefully up and down on ink, the canoe lost at sea, and a boy with black messy hair reading a document on one of the benches.

“Dude, you ok?”

Goro nods, turning away from the familiar figure. He ignores the figure's quiet taunting. “It’s nothing.”

* * *

The sky is a clear blue, a few white fluffy clouds painted in loose brushstrokes decorate the sky.

Akira isn’t wearing his glasses when he steps out during his break. He hears a gasp in the distance followed by excited chirping as some girls recognize him. He plays along with the role entrusted on him by a producer with too many intentions and a heavy touch. He shoots them a cat’s smile, his thoughts lie under layers of porcelain.

Returning to this idol's facade after dancing with his real work is disorienting but he makes due. Poses with them for a selfie, and glaces up to the birds taking flight.

The sky is a clear blue, a few white clouds stare down on Goro as Makoto opens the door to the rooftop. She walks confidently, and he holds back a scoff. Her grand show of control is undermined by her bitten nails, the jittering of her eyes and the loud clack of her school shoes on the tiles.

He wonders if Ann notices her unease too. She doesn’t look impress, but neither does Ryuji. His frown tells a different tale and Goro wonders how long it’ll take before they leap at her throat.

Above them, Morgana is perched over the door's shelter. Wide blue eyes curiously studying the interaction as the feline guards.

“I see you’re all here.” Makoto stops a meter away from them. Her hands fold on her chest and a taunting edge to her jaw is set as she tilts her head up. Goro thinks it comes out gauche, he thinks he sees a kid emulating a cop during play time. “Let’s jump right into it.”

Her cadence isn’t the one he recognizes as Makoto Nijima, Goro struggles to pinpoint it.

“I know you three are the _Phantom Thieves,_ ” she says the name as if trying to spit it out and establish dominance. “I have a proposition for you hooligans.“

“Hooligans?! We help people!” Ann stomps on the floor. Had they been in the Metaverse, Goro is convinced flames would have surged from her heels. Nonetheless, her eyes make up for the missing blaze. 

“She can’t be for real.”

Nijima scoffs. “Of course I am. You’ve done nothing but disrupt school life with your, your prank-”

Ryuji cuts her off. “We disrupt school life? You’re kidding me right?! Oh yeah, because the crap Kamoshida was pulling was totally ok.”

“I will not defend his actions-”

“Yeah, well you kind of did!” Ann lashes out with her tongue instead of a whip.

Goro braces his hand on Ann’s shoulder. “We’ve been through this.” He raises his hand to silence whatever else Ryuji was going to add.

“I was not aware of the things he did! Akechi- did you not tell them I had members of the council look into this?!”

“We’re getting out of track,” he sighs. It derailed in record time, he thinks. At the very least, he expected two minutes to pass before Ann bursted. “But calm down, I did explain it to them.”

Nijima loses her composure, like a child who stumbles in her Mother’s heels. And Goro realizes that’s all that act had really been. Nijima always spoke about her father and sister fondly.  “I see you’re just trying to find a scapegoat then, Takamaki.”

Goro marvels at the choice of words, and wonders if he should let go of Ann.

The anger Ryuji had felt coursing through him is stifled. The bleached blond’s eyes dart back and forth between the two girls as Ann gapes silently. “Uhm,” he calls out uncomfortably and begs for back up with a desperate glance to Goro’s way. “You know what, let’s go back to your deal? Like yeah, definitely-” Ryuji smiles tensed when the other blond’s eyes slit. “Deals can be fun?”

“A scapegoat,” Ann enunciates with all the vitriol she can master. Goro’s fingers squeeze her shoulder. An anchor.

“Yes, I heard you were close friends with Suzui Shiho. I understand that your inability to protect her must have been hard to swallow,” Nijima explains, eyes somber and a downward turn of her lip.

Goro lets go of Ann’s shoulder. Ryuji’s face twisted from terror to rage.

“You don’t know anything,” Ann enunciates despite the furious tremor in her voice. “You’re part of all that’s wrong in this school, in this-” Her knuckles turn lily white with the strength she clenches her fist.

Goro gestures Ryuji with a nod of his head and the bleached blond is by Ann’s side immediately. “You know what? Goro can talk for all of us.” He pulls at Ann’s wrist gently, guides her towards the roof entrance. “C’mon man. Let’s go burn some crap in Mementos.”

Morgana stares, tense and standing. Goro shoos him away with a subtle wave of his hand, but the cat doesn't relent. Fur still standing up, Morgana composes himself as the door falls shut.

Nijima’s sigh is louder than the door’s slamming. She deflates like a balloon, her hands fall to her sides, her face falls and her eyes stare downturned at the floor. “That could have gone better.”

Goro agrees.

She exhales out with force and pulls herself up by the seams. “Business. We’re here for business.”

The shadow of a flock of birds passes over head.

“I want to see your justice for myself.”

* * *

“And then! Ann, like, invoked this pyre of flames! It was so cool, just like a critical fire magic hit in Emblem of Fires!” Futaba chats loudly. She pilfers some of his chips directly from the bag in his grip and Goro folds. He hands it to her. “Thanks. So anyway, she pretty much melted like ten Jack Frosts alive while Ryuji was losing his mind in the background.”

“He was?”

“Yeah!” The small girl cackles like a villain. She makes herself cosy in her spot on the couch with her spoils of victory. “He was all like ‘ _Oh man, I never want to make Panther mad’_ or something.”

Goro stretches on his side of the couch and props a leg on the small table. Her Ryuji imitation isn’t too bad. He finds himself not minding his absence- if all their usage of the Metaverse would be described to him in this much detail, then maybe he could make peace with his presence missing for every excursion. To maximize efficiency, to take care of more personal things.

Futaba hands him the remote when no channel attracts her attention.

“I told them about the Prez’s request by the way.”

“What did they say?”

In the corner of the couch, the small hacker folds onto herself and brings her knees to her chest. She's half lying on her back, wriggling her toes to a song only she can hear as she stuffs her mouth with more snacks. The position looks uncomfortable, but she continues munching her chips. “They are down with it but want to make it clear they are doing it for the students.”

“Good. You?”

“I'm insulted the mere thought of me not helping my big bro crossed your mind.” She extends a leg just to kick him before bringing it back. “I know what it's like to be stuck in a shitty situation first hand, and I wouldn't have gotten out of it if you hadn't helped.” Futaba hides the gloom blooming on her face behind a handful of salty carbohydrates. “ So I'll change people's hearts like you do to protect! Now let's think happy thou-”

Futaba interrupts herself, her eyes staring at the screen with her face scrunches up as if her socks had been suddenly wet. “Wait a sec, how were you planning on finding out that dude's name without me? The prez had no intel.”

“She suggested snooping around.”

Futaba turns her disgusted expression and pointedly aims it at Goro. Unscathed by its scorn, he retaliates by lazily and nonchalantly patting her head.

“My hair might be orange, but I'm not a basketball. Stop dribbling me… You should learn from Ann.” Dreamily, Futaba braces her chin on her knees. “She really looked so good today in Mementos…”

* * *

“You've been gaining popularity recently.”

The collection of alcohols in Shido's office glint with the angle the artificial lights hits it. Expensive, abundant, and intensive- Akira thinks he spies a new bottle of Sake in the mix. He doesn't recall seeing that brand before. Perhaps new acquaintance of his employer is a fan and Shido is trying to butter them up.

Disregarding the poisons propped up in plain view, Shido takes a bottle of sake, half emptied, from one of his desk’s drawers.

“When our dear late Asakura specifically requested for you, I had my doubts.” He takes out the proper glass, and pours. The extensive collection in the corner is just for show. “I was certain placing you in the SIU would have been more useful- but here you are. You took your idolhood as a platform to invade the justice system anyway.”

Shido chuckles. Akira’s skin crawls, the man before him never praises another for free. He imagines what it would be like to poison him.

A far away, impossible dream. The cameras are only down when he is here, and Shido never turns his back on him.

“I have to hand it to you. You've been behaving well. How many interviews have you been in recently?”

Akira knows it isn't a question. He stands in front of the desk, looks above the carved waves.

“And yet- you haven't been vocal in your opposition to the Phantom Thieves,” Shido spits.

The threat goes unsaid, but greatly implied. So Akira keeps his ire to himself, swallows it down instead.

“Sorry. It would just seem curious if I -”

Shido takes a sip. “I didn't ask for an excuse. Use your platform for the right reasons, or you'll sink.”

Akira retreats, into his own head. He stares at the leather couch in the office corner. It's a different model from the day he met the producer, but it rests in the same spot.

He had been sitting on it, stiffly, his head pounding from Wakaba's prodding when the man had strolled into the room, the confidence of what now Akira knows belongs to vermin.

“Don't make us regret this decision.”

Back then, Asakura had looked at him once. Eyes unreadable in a way Akira only deciphered too late, and asked,

“Do you want to be an idol?”

Shido had laughed then the same way he does now as he dismisses him.

* * *

Goro's phone buzzes on his bedside table. Morgana pauses his grooming at the sound and gets back to licking his paws.

The device buzzes again.

Groaning, Goro ruffles his own hair as he stands. He stretches out the kinks in his muscles from pouring over his books.

Nijima: _We should meet up tomorrow after the council meeting_ .  
Nijima: _Don't disappoint. The students are relying on us._

Goro shuts the screen off and returns to his books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consistent tone? don't know her. Neither do i know consistent updates. And apparently I lied no Kaneshiro palace yet woops. And before you ask- this fic is ann/every girl and every pt girl/every pt girl that's how it is i don't make the rules


	6. Chapter 6

The businessman's shadow contorts as he dances. His joints moving unnaturally as he sways to the rhythm of a song bled into his ears, his head lulls as its splint open wide with a smirk. A rolling and drooling tongue slithers out of his mouth. He attempts to lick the air, and the motion comes across as everything but. The man chants his vice to himself, voice higher and higher.

The persona wraps around his user's form and shields him from the sight.

Behind a veil of feathers, black glass peers back. The reflection of his own face is faint, swallowed by the void under the ice.  His image blinks at him, he watches it move underneath the surface, his own body immobile. He thinks.

“Aren’t we done here?”

Donning the same black, the reflection freezes mid spin.

“Perhaps so,” a deep breeze caresses the layer under his skin. It plays the lyre with his hair. “Perhaps not.”

Perhaps. The labyrinth pulses beneath his feet, a shadow screeches in the distance. He doesn't pay it any heed.

“We can't.”

He feels a warmth creeping from the left. It giggles around his ankles and bites its hissing into his bones. The labyrinth gets warmer the farther down he descends, the walls become livelier. What presents itself as cement has a beat and a heat. It might even bleed.

The sole of his shoes are cool against the floor and it keeps shivering.

This hell is alive, it wants him out. But he keeps having to throw himself back into its maws.

“Not yet,” his reflection echoes.

* * *

 Nijima fiddles with the hem of her skirt. The display of her nervousness too public in LeBlanc's attic for Goro to ignore. He merely arches an eyebrow as the rest of the thieves talk. For her part, Nijima mutters something to herself as her eyes wash over Yusuke and Futaba.

“She for real? We can't bring her with us!”

Futaba hides behind Yusuke and flails her arm. “But! Mona!”

The cat hops onto the table. Nijima's eyes flicker back and forth between the animal and the other teens. In her awkwardness, she lets go of the fabric and clutches the magazine she's been sneaking behind of on her way to LeBlanc.

As Goro scrutinizes the show of vulnerability, a familiar brunette model winks up to him from the glossy pages.

Worse painted eyes could meet his. He thinks briefly about Ann’s recent shoots, only because it’s in his best interest to keep his firepower’s morale up. That's the only reason.

"Futaba and I scouted the palace entrance already-”

Goro’s attention is diverted from Nijima's lost expression by Ryuji groaning. “And you didn't call us?”

Goro suspects that whatever grievances they both have from being left out are different. He's working on his own somewhat- their navigator and not-cat both like chatting well enough.

“You guys were at school!” Morgana huffs and burrows into a more comfortable position. “Anyway, we couldn't get inside. We'll need someone to be indebted to the guy first…”

“Indebted? Hold up!” Ann smacks Yusuke's bicep and sinks her finger into Ryuji's with wide eyes. “Who are we going up against exactly?!”

“Ow! Geeze! That yakuza Kaneshiro dude! Weren't you listening?”

"Not now, Ryuji! And you!” Ann dramatically points at the cat with a perfectly manicured maroon nail. “You want us to be indebted to the yakuza?!”

Nijima stiffens in her seat and confusion keeps her from standing. “Is this a prank? Where did you find his name? No one said it. And this cat...”

Morgama thumps his tail against the wooden surface, Ryuji dispels her with a nonchalant wave of his hand. But Goro waves her back- because Nijima said she wanted to be a part of this plan.

“You mentioned they were extorting students, correct?"

* * *

The next day after school, Goro finds himself escorting a too jittery Nijima.

“Nijima, you need to calm down.”

She clutches her bag to her chest harder. her shift glare shouting for an adult to stop her. “Easy for you to say.”

The student body president shakes her head and, while hooking her bag over one arm, she takes out yesterday’s fashion magazine. It's opened with so much force Goro wonders how the pages don't tear from the brute strength. And yet, the most incredible part isn't the resilience of the pages, but how he found a worse actress than Ann.

He assumes it’s too late to turn another of the thieves into their ticket in. He won't be doing it either.

“Nijima, you're holding it upside down again.”

Although, maybe he could still try get another thief to do it. He is confident that he'd be able to convince Yusuke into it with enough food. Ann will let it slide eventually and after enough crepes.

“...Huh?” Nijima stares at the images as if they were foreign. She probably never actually glanced at the contents before. Goro doesn't peg her as the type. “Wait, ‘again’?”

Goro bites back his tongue, knives meet poison, and nods.

“It's the nerves,” she grumbles as she slams it shut. “I'm becoming some dr- some-!” She frantically glances around as she covers her lower face with the magazine. Goro ignores an upside down Mika smiling up to him while Nijima continues, voice much more subdued. “I'm gambling my future away- maybe even my sister’s- by becoming some mule for this filth.”

Goro keeps quiet. Observing as the other exhales the poison out of her system, even if only momentarily. He gathers it in a vial, just in case.

“I don't want to be dead weight. Not for my sister, not for the students… And yet…”

He should say something. But,

“Let's get this over with.”

Goro has never seen how to handle this sort of issue.

“You must find this amusing. Your group could end all I've cared for if this gets out.”

If Goro had the freedom to snort, he would have. Instead, he keeps his pace leveled and his eyes forward. It would be better if she could keep the audacity adults all around her blew on her sails to venture frowned upon waters.

“I don't know what tale you're spinning in your head, but quit it. We both have justice in mind- and justice isn't only in the shadows of adults.”

With a gracious step, he sidesteps an incoming pedestrian. He keeps his eyes trained forward, even when the sound of paper crumpling besides him pierces the cacophony of Shibuya's crowded street.

* * *

 In the distance, flying high above the buildings, they see the bank floating. Bills flutter up to the air like fireflies, glinting gold with their cognitive value. The once blue sky is painted permanently black, whether to make the bank be the only beacon of light or because Kaneshiro lives his days amongst the dirt in Tokyo city’s nightlife, Crow can’t tell.

“What… what is all this?” Nijima stares. She trails behind, gapes at them and at the impossibility of their surroundings. Her gaze catches onto Mona and the rapid blinking of her wide eyes betray her overclocking brain.

Skull snorts and a faroff expression washes over his face. “Yeah, it’s weird. You never know what the Metaverse will throw at ya.”

Fox acquiesces with a small fond smile. “It is an absolutely fascinating realm. The expected unexpected is part of its charm- and its humanity.”

Crow sneers carefully under his mask. There's no beauty in the manifestation of adult's dog-eat-dog world. He keeps his opinion to himself, surveying the school president.

Nijima clenches and unclenches her hands into fists. Her disbelief ripples in the motion, and Mona wastes no time to explain. Taking turns, Panther and Skull Interject with over simplifications. Crow doesn't understand their investment in explaining the details of cognitive pscience. But he allows it, their view of the Metaverse is telling and so innocent that he's almost jealous. Their talking makes time flow faster as Crow shepherds the group through the twisted Shibuya and through the walking ATMs.

“I wonder why I didn’t turn into one of them…”

“Oh! I know this one!” Skull smirks. His arms cross over his chest as he stares smugly at Mona. “ That’s cause you’re actually you- and you’re walking here as you- but there _is_ a cognitive you that would be here as an ATM!”

The not cat cradles his face in his paw while Nijima merely frowns and nods. She translates his thoughts into something more complex, voices her thought process as Panther blinks rapidly. Skull mirrors her.

Oracle walks by Crow's right side, Fox in tow.

The artist falls back behind the group and Crow catches him framing Nijima with his fingers as the impossible building rolls a red carpet for their group.

Crow rolls his eyes. There is no beauty in this place.

* * *

Wakaba says he's special.

She holds his cheeks in her hands, her gaze carnivorous as she dissects him with quick flicks of her eyes. She's a scientist, a researcher, and her identity is reflected in each and every one of her appendages. He absentmindedly thinks she built her body, poured her consciousness in and discarded the flesh. He has a hard time connecting bones and muscles to her movements, and a harder time comprehending how she comes across so differently to people.

He saw her daughter once, from afar. It was a coincidence. They happened to take the same street, and the small girl looked at her mother as if she had created the sun itself.

Goro imagines the lies she must spew as bedtime stories.

Wakaba says he’s much better than the boy Shido brought.

She lavishes Goro as stronger, more durable- a well of unimaginable potential waiting to be tapped, no unnecessary drilling for awakening required.  He endured much harsher experiments, he can survive and actively battle-hunt- shadows head on.

So Goro doesn't understand why Shido sticks to Akira when he's so inferior.

Goro doesn't understand why his plan can't advance. Maybe he's afraid of someone with too much willpower.

Sometimes, he fears he'll never see Shido crumbling into dust and devoured by the sea. He even thinks, sometimes, about colluding with the woman. Other times, he thinks of forcing an accident to occur when it's just him and-

Akira smiles at him as they wait to be debriefed on their next experiment. It's small, perhaps shy. It reads mocking when he tries so hard to not look at him.

“Be careful. Try not to shine too much.”

Goro hates him but revels in the poor advice. He'll steal back the position that's rightfully his, and drown that man.

* * *

Nijima’s- Queen’s awakening leaves a bad taste on his tongue. As his friends cheer on the student president, Crow ponders on how an extra set of eyes and an extra person with the ability to use personas could affect things. Especially when that someone is as lawful as Nijima.

He never sailed smooth seas.

His foundations rocks, and Goro buys a magazine on the way home. Ammunition, because small things build loyalty. And loyalty is the greatest control one can exert.

* * *

 Akira flips his phone, spins it over his index as he waits. He stares at the adults talking and running, the set dismantling and rebuilding itself into something other. Something foreign to its previous shape.

He finds kinship in it, rolls his eyes at his own melodrama. It's one of those days, Akira sighs as he reshapes himself.

Reshapes himself- ribbons of fabric reach out to his limbs. They snake themselves around his flesh, sink into it and grow like strips of armour. He stretches. The Metaverse outfit does with him.

Black and blue scales mold themselves into a striped pattern and black metal bubbles around Goro's neck, hands and feet. It obstructs his movements, narrows down his sight but keeps him focused.

The outfit strains to hold him back, doesn't hold him at all, and he ventures forward. The tips of his clawed boots digging into the uneven ground before him as he enters the breathing maze.

Futaba's naive surveillance uncovered a new name worth looking into.

Goro has a plan, Loki snickers as he extracts himself from his summoner's unconsciousness. It carves a way forward, and Goro knows it'll  lead him merrily to his goal and to that man's grave.

Under his guidance, he doesn't cross any quiet hunting hound in his way in nor out. But he catches whiff of its prowl- Akira’s unspoken threat floats around the inside of his skull and manifests a series of texts.

Ryuji S.: No way!!! What an asshole!!!!!!

The chat comes to life all as he steps into the real world. Backlogs of messages arriving all at once, they turn his phone into a buzzing, if momentarily, annoyance. Goro waits a second for the chat to finish loading.

Ryuji S.: _u guys seeing thid??_

Ann T.:  _??_

Futaba S.: : _O I'm ready who we hating on_

Ryuji S.: _that Kurusu guy!!!!_

Ryuji S.: _yo goro wtf is up with ur friend hating on us so hard today_

Makoto N.: _Kurusu?_

Ann T.: _the model guy_

If that's the worst Shido and his toys can do, it's pathetic. It's mockery- an obvious gloat that he is being mistaken for a joke. But it's also comforting, his plans had been on hold for too long and, finally, the fruits of his lone lashing out are ripening with them none the wiser.

He doesn't text back.

Suddenly reinvigorated, he considers going back into the Metaverse and ruin more lives in Shido's entourage.

Yusuke K.: _Isn’t it interesting_ _? Kurusu is raising the same arguments Goro used to._

Futaba S.: _:O !!!! u r right… birds of a feather lol_

Ryuji S.: _lol crow_

Goro hisses. The snarl forms on his lips before he could stop it. He hunches quickly, hides his face behind the curtain of his hair to buy himself time. It’s unsightly, a feral expression that spoke volumes and secrets best kept six feet under.

Goro suffocates the visage befitting of a throwaway child behind an iron mask.

Only after, he is certain his facial muscles have been schooled into a more acceptable expression does he raise his head and starts the trek home.

He receives a private message from Futaba. His screen's pixel morph the words into mousey and meek. The words stare at him, a childlike curiousity as they ask why he visited the Metaverse.

He replies he was lining his pockets.

* * *

 Kaneshiro still counts money, Goro counts his alliances.

The magazine Ann is published in is some gaudy thing.

Goro buys a copy anyway. He hides it between manuals and books, purposely keeps it on his person as he searches the school. When he finally crosses paths with the model, he sneakily flashes the magazine at her with a small smile and a brush of their arms.

Ann returns with one of her own, so bright and happy that Goro feels he doesn’t deserve it.

“My apologies, I wasn’t paying attention.” Goro reminds her between undertones of their guises.

“It’s ok- I wasn’t either!” Ann says all too cheerily as she bows with a wider grin. It makes him sigh, defeated, because there’s absolutely no way anyone would still believe they are two unrelated students in the same school with the giddiness behind her skipping steps.

If he gets lucky, any onlookers might assume she’s a fan. And there's always some, always at least one- Goro catches his reflection in the windows. He would rather not wish those rumors on Ann.

His reflection follows him all the way to the student council, yet the room is empty when he arrives.

Carefully, Goro pulls the magazine out and flips through the pages of advertisements, interviews and fashion. He reaches Ann, a familiar colourful decor glints in the images. He remembers this shoot. He was there, some of the staff had tried to talk him into modelling and Mika, for her part, had acted warm to sugarcoat her requesting his contact information.

He recalls rejecting both their offers kindly, insulted. He wants something less frivolous in his life.

After one last glance, he turns the page. The colorful pages shift to dark.

Familiar, gunsmoke eyes stare at him, a second yellow gaze bores into him. Akira lies, suited and hair mussed, sprawled on a jaguar. There’s a thin smile grazing his lips, as thin as a dagger and it matches the glint of the animal’s canines.

In all the black of the image, the sliver of Akira’s uncovered skin hold his attention at gunpoint. It’s porcelain, except it's all pretend. Goro has seen some of what Akira has done for that man. He’s heard the rest on the news.

The apparent delicateness exuding from it is as real as his glasses, as real as the morals he parades in interviews.

Goro feels the spark of want- want to break away at the fake layer over the flesh. He wants bruises to bubble up the surface, he wants red, but the want comes senseless. An image of an aftermath that is too hazy for him to figure out the how.

He wants to ring a bell for a person with no shadow.

He knows the end and the crumpled silhouette, but not the journey. Warm anger drips in his veins.

There’s noise outside the door, Goro shuts the magazine and buries Shido’s extra set of eyes amidst books. It would be nice if he could bury that man just as easily.

* * *

 They send the calling card. An over the top, dramatic affair that Goro admits carves a smug self absorbed grin on his face when the adults, the students, all avert their eyes from him.

But when the spotlight turns back to him, the expression is gone. He answers questions with ease, pleasantly speaks to his classmates and dons the guise of a kind young man.

At least until he can slip into a whole different disguise.

Stealing the treasure was easier than sending the cards, Goro thinks.

The Metaverse left him a gentle kind of tired. He barely nods at Nijima as she leaves with Ann. But he notices the deep frown on her face and worried nails, and the way Ann chatters about nothing at all as she gently guides the school president to her train. Goro allows himself to be pushed back into the metro too, pushed back home, with the sea of people as his guide. Futaba sleepily clinging to his shirt like a lifeline. Goro doesn’t pay her any mind.

He doesn’t pay anything any mind, until his phone buzzes at the Sakura residence doorstep.

“ _Hey kid, come to LeBlanc. One of your friends is here- said something about you being careless and that you need to talk. Sounds important too.”_ The Boss chuckles from the other end of the line. A far off sound not addressed to him and light. “ _Seriously, where do you find these kids?”_

He nudges Futaba into the house and turns on his heels.

Judging by the tone of Soujirou’s voice, it couldn’t have been Yusuke nor Ryuji. But it couldn’t have been Ann either- he knows her by name. It’s Nijima then, he surmises.

Goro almost makes it a game, but Nijima's overflowing nerves make it too easy.

As he walks, he texts Nijima with one hand and less than a passing thought.

Goro A.: _Nijima, I know you’re worried, but all we can do now truly is wait. If you need to talk, you can just send a text._

He hits send as he turns the corner into the alleyway.

Makoto N.: _Sorry... I know there’s nothing else I can do now, but…_

Goro shrugs, opens the cafe door.

“I’m here,” Goro groans. He combs his hair back with his fingers out of habit when the shadow of a customer blooms in his peripheral. He nods at Boss, passes by the only customer on his way to the attic. Goro notices with a brief glance the emptied coffee cup, the aroma of a recently brewed drink and the bad posture of the person sitting at the bar, slouching, facing away from him. The hood around the stranger’s neck helps hides his features, but the blac-

Nijima answers.

“So you are. I won’t take too much of your time, Goro.” The customer turns on his seat with a feline grace and a sharp grin. Goro’s phone buzzes again in his pocket. “We need to talk- but before that, here.”

Nijima answers him again, the vibration of the text’s arrival courses up his leg. Or maybe it’s someone else messaging him. Akira steals a glance back to Sojiro, and keeps the older man in the kitchen with his back towards them pinned with grey eyes. “ You dropped this back in Shibuya.”

Akira’s glasses glint on the cafe counter besides the empty cup. Goro notices them over the edge of the black and red calling card Akira extends so casually.

“You should be more careful, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written like last week and was ready for corrections since then lol.... forgive my laziness.


	7. Chapter 7

Akira takes Goro's pulling his arm in strides. The calling card remains in his grasp as the cafe's doorbell rings above them and the door slams shut, he slips the paper into Goro’s backpocket only to receive a glare. The older boy remains quiet, red eyes speak for him as his grip tightens momentarily. But the hold on Akira’s arm doesn’t wither, he is pulled into the empty streets, directed towards a place he doesn't know but is certain is deserted. Thick framed glasses slip down his nose and he bumps them back up.

Goro walks surprisingly fast for someone with a too similar height.

Or maybe Akira just isn’t used to being led.

Goro ducks them to a small laundromat, out of sight, out of mind and too dark. The steps are only illuminated by the light from the vending machine and the bathhouse near the entrance. Together, they paint long bizarre shadows in the laundromat to create a mockery of the place that could, should, would be embedded in Mementos itself. Akira glues his eyes to the products in the vending machine- they are more pleasant to look at than the oddly familiar frown twisting his features boyishly handsome features. 

The lightbulbs in the laundromat come to life with the too loud noise of a switch flipping. A distant threat rings in Akira’s ears, the old gunpowder he is certain is imbued to his other world outfit stuffs his nose as a memento of the twistedness of turned off lights. Thin spider legs come to life in his head, weaving the known together with odd coincidence. The beginning of a heavy yet airy veil. Akira knocks it down with an exhale, half formed and solidly based baseless theories crumble onto the dust at his feet.

They look up to him and sing about Goro, a lab. He drums back manipulation of the wants and needs of the innocent and forgotten are what dragged him, them, there.

But this is now, that was then. Unlike Akechi, Akira belongs in parts to both. He wants to pick the lock of the past’s shackles, feel the air of freedom on his skin and not the puff of breath of teeth and death at his neck. And he can only do so if they talk.

“Boss said you had a cat,” Akira sighs as he pockets his hands. “And you didn't show me at the station? Goro, that's cruel.”

“What do you want,” Goro ignores the real and implied accusation. The older boy's shoulders slightly slouch and tense. A coil, Akira thinks, that needs to be unwinded or he won't get anywhere. He'll cut him some slack, he gave him his knife.

“I want to know what you're doing and why.”

Goro ruffles, a stupefied expression flashing through his face. The laundry machine groans as the taller leans his weight against it.

“So you barge in and threaten me?”

Akira supposes he did. He shrugs. “I didn't want you to brush it off. Or to circle around it.” Akira wants to lean against something himself, but…

“Doesn’t sound like you,” Goro states and stares. Akira angles his glasses just right as he waits. “Are you here because of him?”

Akira covers the instinctual disgust twisting his lips with something more detached, simply for lack of time for soliloquies. He sees the curiousity peeking on the tip of Goro's tongue. 

He  doesn't understand it. Goro had been there. He knows. Should know. Would know-

Time keeps marching forward, and Shido, work, hasn’t contacted him yet. It’s only a matter of time.

“No- no, of course not. You got out, I wouldn't drag anyone in. But it would be easy for anyone that knew you back then to put two and two together.”  Akira watches Goro gives nothing away. “Or at least accuse you of it.” Akira raises a hand, wraps a strand of curly hair about one lone index finger as scarlet eyes study him. “The elections aren’t too far away, and an escapegoat can ensure votes.”

“Did you switch careers? Should I address you as Mr. Detective?” Goro raises an eyebrow and Akira snorts. In the background, metal groans as Goro makes himself more comfortable. “Despite all the threats you throw,” Goro sighs. He pauses to cross his arms and to meet his eyes. ”You don't really seem like you want to stop me.”

Akira chuckles sardonically. 

Goro presses. “Am I wrong?”

The model mirrors the lowering guard but keeps his glasses carefully reflective, naturally opaque. He speaks easily. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know if what you're doing is right.” Masterfully, he keeps the desperation from bleeding into his voice. The two years have been a long sentence. “But I want it to be- or at least as close to just as it can be.”

“Akira, what is it you're really here for?” Akechi asks carefully. Akira hears walking on glass shards.

“I want to see you and your group in action.“

“So you were sent here to judge.”

“You make me sound more nefarious than I really am.” Stranger still is that accentuating on threads pulling him, an objectification that the model isn’t all that unused to- yet it tastes bizarre on his tongue. Akira swallows it anyway, he'll let Akechi think others are watching it for him. And, only after, maybe…

Maybe, maybe he should keep his hand to himself, just to be safe. To keep unnecessary potential victims safe from a man with too much greed fashioning himself his carriage out of devotion.

“... My apologies, I'm on edge.”

Maybe, maybe Akechi and his group would willingly champion with, for him. And then they could know.

“No, it's ok.” Akira waves his hand. A small smile pulls at the edge of his lips and he lets himself blabber, “You're way more polite than before.”

Goro flushes slightly in an embarrassed apologie and the laundry machine winces for him. Akira chuckles. The look suits the other, a boyishly handsome side that should be the whole. He hopes Goro could find it in himself to forgive him, if everything goes wrong. The second phone he carries as a curse vibrates in his pocket. The buzzes signaling the end of his inconspicuous free time.

“Don't worry about it,” he says instead of tentative teases and half turns to the door. He takes out his phone, briefly glancing at the screen’s texts preview. “It's getting rather late. Let's continue this another time.”

Goro nods. He straightens with a stretch, Akira watches from the corner of his eye as fabric strains against muscles. He wonders, honestly, if Goro really did think he could pass for someone who let go of the power the Metaverse imbues one with, if he passes for someone unchristened by battle. Regardless, Goro searches for his attention and catches it somewhere between reverie and old memories.

“Akira. You  _ are _ here to judge us, right?”

“In a way.” Akira passes through the laundromat's entrance. “I want to know if I can entrust something to you.“

Goro makes a prodding sound, but Akira is already slipping away, tapping at his phone in the safety of distance. But he stills before he can truly pass through the web of well manicured fingers.

“Oh yeah- tell Ann Takamaki to be more careful during photoshoots.” Akira smiles. “You be careful too when you go with her.”

“Wait, how do you-”

Akira turns on his heels and walks away.

“The day after tomorrow!” Gorio calls out behind him before it's too late. “I'll be at the cafe!”

* * *

 

Akira nods as he falls into the street’s shadows and out of sight. He blends with the darkness exceptionally, predictably, easily.

The sleep that had once been lurking and steadily weighting his limbs evaporates into fog. Goro’s heart beats loud and loops the conversation- Akira's reactions were curious. For a split second, the porcelain facade cracked. A hairline fracture that rippled and faded quickly. It has always been rare for there to be any give behind his expressions- the dull gleam of disdain towards something when Goro mentioned Shido was an anomaly when it came to an otherwise lying face.

And he can use this apparent rift, if he plans it right. Akira's loyalty to his role can be played into a shortcut, a guide, through the turbulent and treacherous sea Shido calls his.

Goro reflects, distorted by condensation on the glass.

The others don't deserve this level of exposure to  _ them _ . But it's Akira who has their number and Goro is just playing the cards he can.

He rubs his eyes. Everything looks the same when he reopens them.

* * *

Back home, Soujirou busied himself preparing supper for three.

Morgana's bowl is nicely filled, but Goro finds him attacking Soujirou's calf with headbutts and purrs. The feline’s muzzle moves in smugness as the old man sneaks him turkey bits. 

Goro smirks as he lazily pulls out the water jug and fills himself a cup. “Boss, I thought we weren't supposed to feed Mona human food.”

Soujirou coughs.

“Don't be a brat. You know I meant those weird chemically flavoured packed snacks,” the cooking spatula whips at the air in Goro's direction. “And you should stop getting those for Futaba too!”

“I like my private matters remaining private.”

“Trying to remain on her good side, eh? Smart kid.” Boss snorts, the smile on his face is fond and as warm as the aroma of the home cooked meal. The vegetables hiss gently under the heat before the spatula pushes them around.

Morgana chews up his treats, Goro finds himself basking in the spell of the kitchen atmosphere. Soujirou hums,

“So what happened with that Kurusu kid?”

The high schooler places his glass on the counter with a delicate tink. He can feel Morgana's wide blue eyes on his skin as the cat takes a break from his food. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb. You two left the cafe.” Soujirou raises the stove’s heat. “And you usually bring your friends upstairs.”

Mona chirps. “Wait, that model guy was at the cafe?”

A plastic moon silver is on Goro's face. “We needed privacy.”

“Did he come to warn us? You should have let Futaba listen in.”

Boss laughs. “Seems like the little fella is also curious. You don't seem to need  _ privacy  _ with any of the others.”

Goro feels his face twist, he uncrumples it into something more boyishly pleasant. It still feels like a grimace.

“Don't give me that,” the old man chuckles. “I'm just making an observation.”

Goro chooses to not make an observation about the wink. He would be saying too much if he did. His skin crawls all the while boss keeps chuckling.

Mercifully, Soujirou turns back to the stove, turns off the stove. “Alright kid, try to wake up the sleeping gremlin.”

“You have too much faith in me,” Goro grumbles before being waved off.

He strides leisurely down the corridor, the small pitter patter of paws trailing behind him as the cat follows.

“Goro, what did he want?”

“I'll explain later.”

The bedroom door decorated with yellow tape comes around the corner. What lies beyond in the younger girl's messy room is reflected on the mess of stickers on the wood- alien and Egyptian paraphilia guards the room. It's fitting.   
Goro’s own room isn’t too far away from hers, the wooden door lacking all decorations.

The warmth in his gut is just hunger. The coldness on his bones is an effect of hunger as well. Supper's comfortable aroma has wafted all the way here and permeated throughout the whole house. 

“Goro?”

“Team meeting tomorrow.”

He barges into Futaba's room.

* * *

They take the same train to Shibuya, but not together.

Goro is adamant on his pretense of distance, Makoto not as much. If at all. Goro can see them talking in the next cart- Ryuji using his body as a shield for the girls, tangled headphones hopping between three different pair of ears as Ann shows the extent of her playlist. 

He looks away, takes out his phone and feels Morgana moving in the bag he hugs with one arm to his chest. The cat huffs, smacks the high schooler's chest with a paw. The hit is dulled by the layers between them but serving still to catch his notice. Goro has an inkling of what he'll ask.

“When we take the transfer. You know this already.”

When the feline whines, Goro puts his phone in the bag as a pretext and scratches the soft fur between the cat's ears. It’s the only comfort he can offer during transit peak hours. 

“Sorry. I just don't want to chance it.”

He doesn't want many things.

Shibuya Crossing stop comes soon after. The train doors open and Goro pushes his way through the mass of bodies with purpose. He holds his bag, Morgana, as close as always, his arm wrapped around the smaller body securely.

The others meet him halfway. They are in deep conversation, a silly chat about which new game to get, and one that will be totally devastated by Futaba as soon as she catches wind of it.

Goro checks his phone and finds no notification. The train station proved too loud for her bugs, he supposes.

Yongen-Jaya platform comes into view, a train already departing from it, and Goro is adding in his two cents to the banal conversation when a figure brushes against his side.

“Oh,” the someone says. A hand taps Goro's shoulder, the action causing him to turn. “And here I thought we were supposed to meet tomorrow.”

“Akira.”

The rest of the thieves turn. And Goro clenches his fist- the lack of self preservation too unnerving.  He can’t fault them though, he keeps too much for them to see the wolf underneath the sheep’s wool. Akira makes a display of acknowledging them with a nod and small upwards twist of the lips.

“Kurusu, I imagine.” Makoto steps forward first.

The male model winks. “The one and only. Glasses can make one hell of a difference, huh?”

Goro smiles politely.

“Well, duh-” Ryuji talks loudly. “Those frames hide like half your face, dude.”

Akira shoots the delinquent a complicit smile that has the bottle blond blinking in confusion for a few seconds. He understands eventually with a loud ‘oh’. Ann snorts from her spot behind Makoto and she waves at the male model. Akira waves back.

“I imagine your schedule is blocked right now.” Goro sets up his team’s escape. Now that Akira has seen them all, it won't take long for Shido to be informed and that's-

He can't have that.

Today was supposed to be for crafting a plan of attack, a disguise, so that they would never expose a hint of their civilian identity. To hammer home the real danger that comes with having the jaws of a hunting hound snapping at their heels. And it all goes up in flames, it all sinks down the sea. 

At the very least Yusuke and Futaba are still safe. Safer. It doesn't mean much anymore.

Akira sighs. He looks gentle and young, a wolf in sheep's clothing, Goro tenses under his cloak of pleasant nonchalance. “Yeah, work calls.”

Morgana moves in his bag in front of the worst person possible.

“Did your bag move?”

Ann laughs while Makoto’s face turns aghast. The older girl surveys the area for figures of authority and trouble with Ann’s level of acting skill. Goro is about to lie when Ryuji cut him off.

“Why? You a snitch?”

Akira grins with too much teeth.

“Depends. I might if it's bees.”

The comment snaps Makoto out of her stupor and Ann bites her lips in a fail attempt to stifle a snort.

“Bees?”

“Dude…” Ryuji eloquently begins. “If it’s bees, I'd snitch with you.”

“You can both rest assure I'm not  _ bees _ !” Morgana’s paw thrusts out of the small opening in the zipper, swatting the air with claws unsheathed. Goro wants to smack his own face and Morgana's and Ryuji’s in that order. “H-hey! What are you-?!”

The rest of the cat's words are dissolved into purrs under Akira’s gentle massage of his toe beans. 

“Oh yeah, you love cats,” Ann mumbles her thoughts aloud. Her voice increases in volume, tints in a sunny warmth that parades her honest gentleness. She’s too kind, and too kind in front of the wrong person, Goro thinks.”Well you're going to love our Mona!”

Akira's delicate fingers apply soft pressure as he carefully avoids scratching the uncovered skin of the paw with his own nails. Goro didn't notice it before, but-

They are surprisingly long. And his grey eyes are blown wide with childish glee, Goro can see them peeking above the black frames, framed by long lashes and fluffy curls, as Akira angles his head down. His attention is so obviously soaked up the feline that he looks harmless.

He shakes the observation away, Goro reminds himself of truths he clutches to with white knuckles. 

“I thought you made that up for the fans.”

“Hm?” Akira's eyes flicker to his face. The corner of his eyelids crease with the tiny smile on his face. It's bright. A glare that hides all other hints too close to the source. “Nah. Honestly? I only figured out the lying to keep my privacy bit later.”

Ryuji makes a sound. Makoto echoes it as she tilts her head.

“Bad experience, I'm assuming.”

“Just fans and paparazzi waiting to ambush me in the places I liked to eat.”

Ann’s eyebrows crease, her expression boasting her sympathy and bearing her heart all at once. Goro knows she is acquaintanced with the things she likes, loves, being ruined by people who want to use her.

Overhead, a station message announces an incoming train.

“Right, that's your…” Akira trails off as he stands up straight. He stays in his spot though as his eyes sweep through Goro’s group. The clouds stop on clear light blue. “You're Ann Takamaki, right?”

She nods.

“Did Goro mention it already?” Akira wonders aloud, an aside. It sounds like the stalking of a predator- or perhaps Goro is hearing things. The sound interference from the noisy station can play tricks. “Be careful around your photographers. Better to find out they need a change of heart from mouths than experience.” Then, the male model smiles the way Goro is familiar with. Congenial, subdued but moulded with porcelain instead of plastic. “See ya.”

Goro is pulled into the trains by the other thieves. Ann pulls at his sleeve, brows furrowed and cherry lips worried by teeth caging her worries instead of laugh. His gloved hand answers with a squeeze to her shoulder as he stalls for time. The crowded metro station is not the best place for private warnings, a stray ear is always listening.

The filthy and rotten have pawns in every crook and cranny.

Through the cacophony, danger blares loud and clear.

* * *

Ohya’s texts are succinct. Her spelling is distinctly free from autocorrect’s clutches as they pop up on his screen. The words chain themselves to spell unfortunate good news. Akira blinks and reads leisurely. 

There’s precious little either can do yet. 

Even with all the incriminating evidence Ohya piled up, the events only damning in their quantities and links but too coincidental and easy to dismiss. 

It’s the curse of greed, of watching one’s own back with an indifferent gaze towards victims. It’s shackles Akira knows too well, heavy manacles that keep one suspended. A material so strong it is upheld by the gaze of an aggressor, a material so brittle it will shatter at the mere complaint of the victim so that they may fall.

It happens too often in the industry. Or in the working world. Ohya confirmed it a long time ago.

The reporter’s tired sigh can be heard through the buzz of the phone as a new message pops up.

_ Rest assured, Aki-kun, that I will take this guy down!(ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)ง _

He replies with faith and a smirk.

* * *

Steam lazily dances towards the attic’s ceiling from six cups. They litter the old table with their books and notes, snack wrappers that Ryuji will forget to clean up and Ann will inevitably shove down his shirt as punishment. Then, the wrappers will change hands and used as projectiles in a playful brawl that Yusuke will frame with long fingers while Futaba cheers on. Morgana will join in at some point, inevitably leading to Soujirou chiding them to take it outside.

It happens often enough. Goro isn't sure how Makoto will react to this level of  _ friendly _ chaos.

In the meantime, the whirring of Futaba’s laptop is almost imperceivable, the downstairs television louder than the electronic as it’s kept in sleep mode. Half closed screened tapped by tiny fingers as nobody talks.

Ann leans heavily on the table, head propped on her hand as she pouts. Yusuke offers her a chip in her trying time. She takes it and consoles herself with a small rub under Morgana's chin.

“Was anything unclear it?” Goro asks, to fill in the void. “Again, Akira was awfully vague. I might not have all the answers.”

A lie the colour ot his princely grabs.

Deceptively unbothered, the artist munches on something daintily, he pinches the air with his chopsticks as if they were pincers all the while Ryuji scratches his head. The bottle blond groans loudly.

“Oh man, we are bad at secret identities.”

“We can still do damage control,” Makoto replies coolly as she takes out a notebook and a pen.

“Is it, like, really necessary? Kurusu seems like a good guy.”

The school president stares at her writing equipment. She folds them neatly on the table, right besides her own coffee mug. “You did make it sound like he’s an ally…”

“Let’s not get too confident,” Goro sips his coffee. It’s more bitter than usual, which is strange. Boss doesn’t experiment his brews on him without a warning. Besides, he knows in great detail how everyone takes their cup. “He was being obtuse, we don’t know what his actual end goal is.”

Makoto takes her porcelain mug in her hands, but her eyes don’t stray from his own burgundy ones.

Yusuke speaks before any of them do. “But is he not a champion of justice?”

“A champion of justice?”   


“That’s right!” Ryuji leans forward. “Didn’t he get a considerable amount of shitty adults exposed for their bullshit?” He rubs his nose, but the action only serves to highlight his smug grin as he completely ignored the appalled sound falling from Mskoto's lips at his choice of words. “Heh, look who comes crawling to the thieves!”

“It must be dire.” The student body president composes herself quickly enough as steam continue rises from between her grasp. “Ake- I mean, Goro did say he wanted to entrust us something.”

“And he did warn Ann about some photographer, right? Could be related to that.” Futaba perks up.

“A truly just cause!” Morgana mewls. “If he wants to defend Lady Ann and her peers, I’ll gladly be his blade! His rapier!”

“But you use a scimitar…” Yusuke objects.   


“ _ Rapier? _ ”

Goro raises his eyebrow in the place of Ryuji and his shaved ones. “Pray tell, why a rapier? Is it because of your Persona?”   


“Just as I expected from my current number one apprentice! A good thief needs to know his tales to be efficient in the Metaverse. The rest of you better take notes!” Morgana thumps his tail against the table. In its annoyance, it swipes dangerously close to Futaba’s cookies. She snatches them away and places them atop her knees as she folds herself on the chair with her feet on the seat. “Besides, it’s a cool weapon!”

Makoto lets out a soft tone of pleasant surprise. Goro harmonizes with her at first, but her sound switches to resolved.   


“Morgana, now that you mention it… All the shadows we’ve fought so far have been like myths come to life.”   


Ann draws a blank, and so does Ryuji judging from his wide eyes.

“They were?”   


“Yes!” Morgana’s ears fold back, but his claws remained sheathed, the reaction fully aimed at Ann. Goro snorts. “Please learn from Goro’s example…”   


The aforementioned decides to cut the blonds some slack. His sips his coffee, the bitterness of it gone now. Its disappearance is odd, he thought it was supposed to sink into its dregs and not float. He digresses. “Makoto, what were you going to say?”   


She straightens in her seat. “If these enemies are from myths, then we can guess their weaknesses from their tales, correct?” She reaches again for her notebook, flips it to the first page. Goro didn’t think she owned any that was blank, but judging by the lack of wear on the cover, it must be new. “I’ve been an avid reader since young.”

“Dude… I don't think Monsmona was literal about the whole taking notes.”

“I was!”   


Futaba cuts in. “Hm, but wouldn’t you need to know the shadows’ names?”   


“Yes, but!” Makoto writes down the names of the enemies they defeated in the last palace, each on a different line. Goro notices she misses two, he’ll text them later. She adds their weaknesses in a column besides their names. “They share their forms. Or we could beat it out of them. I was wondering why Goro would sometimes zero in so quickly on enemy weaknesses… We can’t expect Goro to know every myth out there- I’ll do my best to research them on my free time.”

“Geeze, you nerds are a real danger in the Metaverse,” Ryuji teases.    


Ann takes Makoto eraser and throws it at him with less aiming than she does in the Metaverse. She sticks out her tongue. “Don’t make fun of them! Their nerdiness is going to save us!”

Makoto freezes, her body readying up to stand but Goro dismisses her intentions with a wave of his hand.    


“Don’t worry, it’s how they bond.”   


Predictably, the candy wrappers become ammunition and Goro finishes his coffee, he wants a refill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like a responsible fic writer I binged tv shows whenever I was supposed to work on this. Woops.


	8. Chapter 8

A drunken voice cuts the lazy lethargy of the bar.

“Cheers!” Ohya swings hed whiskey high widely, her arm over Chihaya as the fortune teller giggles into her drink. “Our girl scammed a shitty boss!”

Akira snorts. “Really?”

“Don't look at me like that” Chihaya fake pouts. Her crocodile tears shimmer under the colourful  neon lights. The offence turns real when Ohya downs her drink too. “Hey! And i swear he was ‘n abusive creep t’ his employees!”

“Really?” Akira parrots only for Chihaya to flick the bridge of his glasses into his nose.

“That's right- so don't go pulling any fate changing this time.”

As Lala slips into the spot in front of them, Akira raises his hand in mock defeat. The smile stretching his lips says otherwise. “No helping that fowl man, got it.”

And he isn't lying. If the truth of the situation spread far enough for consequences to be a possibility, then he isn't under Shido's wing. But he might have to worsen his fortune if he happens to become a thorn.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Akira cant feel bad for some- too many- of his targets. But he loathes, regardless of the result, what takes him to them.

“C'mon, Aki-kun!” Ohya slurs in a honest and relaxed way. “Turn that, uh, that's not a frown-” she blabbers perplexed in her hunt for words. “Line? Nah, maybe-”

“Ohya…”

“How long have you been here?”

Akira watches Chihaya massaging her temples. Lala slips water in front of the reporter, who mistakes it for more alcohol and chugs it. Her search for words distracts her, and she doesn't whine when vice doesn't wash over her palate..

She comes out fruitless, but hydrated. “Whatever! No more blank dummy face! There we go! We're celebrating a rightful con _and_ i have an important lead!”

They murmur amongst themselves.

“Nothing too dangerous, right?” Lala mothers.

Chihaya reveals her deck with pursed lips. “Let's see. Aki-kun, be ready to change any necessary outcome.”

He nonchalantly hums his support. He needs Ohya around anyway. He wouldn't be able to face Lala if he fails in doing something, he-

Akira likes it.

Their company.

He doesn't want to lose a familial bond again, even if it's pretend, and barely holding under the webs of his own lies.

He sips water, watches the three ladies erupt in cheers when the spread reveals safety.

* * *

 

Morgana worriedly kneads the blanket.

“We should have gone after that photographer today.” He mutters, paw stretching too far and claws unsheathing. They pierce the fabric.

“Ann doesn't have a shoot with him in the near future.”

He organizes his notes one last time before bed.

The cat's ears fold back as its muzzle takes a too humanly sad form. “Still… He might call her for an emergency.”

“We'll go with her.”

“We were with her last time and that detective guy said he still creeped…”

The sheets are all in place, stacked neatly in his desk drawer. Goro stands, stretches and extends a hand to scratch behind the cat's ears- a comfort he's seen Futaba and Ann give the feline.

“We know better now.”

“You're right!” Morgana is quick to cheer. Goro finds that childlike quality enviable. Yet he'd fight for him to keep it. The cat swats at his hand, claws retracted. “We'll protect Lady Ann!”

Goro doesn't think she needs much protection.

“Let's go to sleep!” Morgana chirps.

* * *

 

His bed melts against him. Or he melts into it. It all blends in together, one second his stomach is on a mattress and his head buried in a pillow, the next everything is dark. Metal bites into his back, his head rests uncomfortably on moldy fabric and his clothes are too cold. His ankles and wrist are chained together, so heavy and too true.

Akira sighs.

“We know you're awake, inmate!” His attendant bashes her baton on the bars. “Get up!”

A similar much calmer voice floats through the banging. “We summoned you here to talk.”

Akira sits up. Wearily he trudges his way to the front of the cell with heavy footsteps, the weighted ball growling against the cold rock floor as its dragged.

“What's the big idea, idiot?!” Caroline roar echoes in the cold rock of the circular prison.

Under the echoe, Akira hears the metal bars hiss and wisely chooses to not touch them.

Justine speaks once her twin shuts off her baton. “All your hard work for rehabilitation might be for naught.”

“And you're the one throwing it away!” She stomps the floor. “Don't you want to be free? Why are you thinking of doing more crimes?”

“I'd be forced to do crimes anyway.” Akira stares at the empty desk between the two girls. It’s decorated with twisted patterns of the sea, waves that lull bile up his throat. The first time he was here they explained the room was a reflection of his heart, it’s only natural that his captor’s perch looks as such. He gestures at it with his head. “Where is he anyway?”

“None of your business, inmate!”  
“We asked master for a moment to speak with you in private. It seems you’ve forgotten his words of wisdom.” Justine drawls. Her deceitfully monotone drips worry- an emotion that Akira barely manages to hear after all this time. The meaning behind it filters through his fingers. “Master explained your actions would lead to order for society, if you didn’t stray.”

“That's right!”

Akira shakes his head.

“Are you… are you saying master is wrong?”

At Justine words, the baton bashes against the bars once more. “D-don't make ridiculous accusations! A few bad acts are fine if they are for the greater good!” Caroline’s rebuke is undermined by her hesitation. Her confusion grips her and she turns to her sister. “Master wouldn't have guided him in this path otherwise, right?”

Justine nods, wisdom dispel by her own hesitation. “Master wants only what's best for people.” She meets his eyes with a wavering single gold one. “These thieves actions will be but fleeting. The heart is too fickle to still in their new status quo. Humans will always try to find an excuse for their misdeeds and the phantoms’ playtime has an expiration date- you know better than anyone who endangers them.”

“I think that's wrong. The only order you'd get then is slavery and debauchery of the rich.” Akira lifts a wrist to make the chain jingle. “I know better than anyone what type of man he is.”

“Master couldn't have chosen wrong.”

“If you're certain it isn't him, then he must be the one to guide you to the right person.”

Akira shrugs.

“So it's fine that I do my own thing.”

“Hey! Wait a minute!”

“Master explicitly warned you about the thieves.”

“That's right! He said they'll lead you to death!”

Akira nods. The fortune teller in the red light district foretold the same thing. His end.

But he's proved her premonitions wrong so far.

“If we’re done here, then can you answer me something,” he starts. His fingers fiddle with the holes at the hem of his drab joke of a garb. “How did you know I contacted them?”

Caroline blinks. Justine is her mirror image. The calmer of the two twins turns to her paperclip, flips through pages in an unintelligible language searching for an answer. She finds it, after a second.  
“A bond long frayed raveled last night.” Justine pauses. When the pages slip from her fingers, they fall with a raucous sound. “How strange. We are supposed to record your bonds, but it's _that_ handwriting.”

Akira listens.

“That handwriting…” Caroline leans over her twins shoulder. “This bond dates from before the inmate came here.”

He drags himself to the hard cot and slips away.

* * *

 

He sits at the counter in LeBlanc, the very next day.

His back slouches, his long fingers play with a pen. They twirl the shaft as if the laws of physics were but a toy, his grey eyes and lips smile as if under stage lights.

Soujirou turns a page of his newspaper and Goro returns the smile that Akira shot him.

He waits until the porcelain is empty- it doesn't take long. Maybe it always was, Akira leads the way upstairs at Goro's nod.

The path to the attic never felt so paradoxically long and short.

The wood barely creeks underneath Akira’s weight. Goro remains besides the stair railing, hand curled around it and lips downturned and worried. The model moves seamlessly around the attic, turns on his heel in a lonely pas a deux as he surveys the area the thieves call their base. His movements are as fluid as Goro expected them to have become, he is not foolish enough to buy Akira’s incessant Mementos trips lead to stagnation. They are a second nature, the silence and grace he permeates as he dances to the replacement booth bench against the wall appear to be instinct.

“It’s so cosy here.”

Goro chooses to believe that Akira hides a knife up his sleeve. Akira ignores him, flopping onto the couch with a movement more befitting of floating. The older of the two doesn’t know what to do with the dark feline seating on the bench.

“I like it.”

Goro squeezes the wood in his grasp and lets go. “I’m sure you’ve been in much fancier places.”

Under thick and long lashes, Akira observes him with gun powder irides. He’s slow to reply for once, letting his muscles move and fold under the skin of his face. They morph his expression into a soft smile, lopsided and teeth showing. A threat, ugly, nothing like what he wears in public.

Goro swallows soundlessly, resisting the urge to cover his throat and the nervous shiver crawling down his spine. The attic is warm.

“All the riches in the world can’t buy you comfort and warmth, if you spend it chained to the wrong company,” Akira recites an unknown script and melts into the couch. Goro can’t help but notice every time his water-like movements. If he catalogues each motion, deliberate or not, he can avoid the fate many others have met at the hands of the wolf in sheep’s clothing before him. He refuses to drown from such delicate and pale hands. Akira looks away, eyes trained on the bookshelf directly in front of him as he slouches forward. Hands propping his chin, long lithe fingers curling around his jaw, and he speaks pensively low. “I could take a nap here…”

Goro wonders what Akira is playing at. It's safer that way.

“Boss probably wouldn’t appreciate a kid using his cafe as an hotel.”

Akira chuckles, gentle and quiet. And so unlike any clips he’s certain are found online.

“Don’t snitch on me, and it would be fine.”

“I will certainly not promise you that.”

He laughs again, a tiny bit louder than before. Goro moves. He drags the chair from the corner and brings it in front of the booth seat, in front of Akira. He sits on it without much preamble, wonders why Akira’s features sour.

He turns his gaze at his feet, and Goro finds it so curious. The dichotomy before him is a reflection of something he’s such intimate acquaintances with. It's curious. Even more so when he talks.

“You’re still a pretty rude guy even if you mellowed out a bit, you know.”

An echo of a glimpse. Goro studies the way Akira’s expression flickers between blank and-

“How so?”

And he doesn't know. Between blank and the shimmer of glossy magazine pages.

Akira looks up, gaze catching on something around Goro’s adam’s apple and never meeting his eyes. “You just.” Goro prods with an eyebrow raised, but Akira doesn’t notice it. “You remind me-”  There’s a frown rippling through his expression, a despondent flicker. His eyes close off. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

Goro crosses his arms once more, studies the way Akira pretends. In that moment, he echoes last night's Morgana. Goro plays along, reaches a gloved hand forward. The black of the leather blurs into dark curls and Akira pulls away first fast, then slowly.

“Don’t touch me when I’m vulnerable,” he snickers, symmetry back on his face and glasses catching the light of the bulb. “Never thought you were the touchy type, Goro.”

“I’m not. I just know too many people that find comfort in contact.”

Akira looks normal now, Goro finds the creaky ground beneath his feet to be stable. Stable, but the room is dimmer than he remembers. How strange.

It takes a second for Akira to reply. When he does, he hums, “That’s sweet.”

“...”

“Your friends will be here soon, right?” Akira disperses something as he shakes his head. “You can do your own thing until they get here- I won't mind.”

The idol turns away and off as he leans back with his phone.

And Goro is at a loss on what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving a fic alone for months was a m I s t a k e
> 
> That last scene was originally not going to happen like that until much later but yolo I forgot what I was doing and it was already written


End file.
